


You're Not Stubborn (Just Impossible)

by Wordsplat



Series: You're Not Stubborn (Just Impossible) Verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Arguments, Child Abuse, Constant misunderstandings, F/M, Fluff, Getting Together, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Humor, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Omega Tony Stark, Omega Verse, Tony Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:31:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 95,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve's an alpha, Tony's an omega. Biology should take care of the rest, right? Except, Tony's not anything like TV taught Steve omegas were--or like anyone else Steve's ever met, actually--and Steve should really learn to just keep his mouth shut about that. Also, it doesn't help that Tony's not too keen on the idea of alphas. Or Steve. Yeah, this bonding thing looked a whole lot easier on TV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To accompany this fic, I made a handy little guide that's good for both newcomers to the verse in general and those who just want to know how my interpretation of it will be different. It's not necessary to read it, but it is helpful. It can be found at wordsplat.tumblr.com/post/54479162682/aboguide :)

Peter Parker was terrified.

Shield High was intimidating, at least twice as big as his old school, and transferring in the middle of the year meant he knew absolutely no one. He'd made it through his first couple classes relatively unscathed—unnoticed, anyway—and now it was lunch. The cafeteria was huge, and the grassy quad where most people ate lunch was even bigger. He only had time to give a single, nervous gulp before an arm found itself around his shoulders.

"So, you're obviously new."

"Uh." Peter looked up at the owner of the arm, a lanky guy with a challenging grin. "Yeah."

"Peter Parker, right?"

"Wow, yeah." Peter stared at the guy in surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Lesson one, never question a yearbook kid," the guy instructed, "We know everything about everyone, don't bother asking how."

"Okay?"

"Now, I hear you've got camera skills."

"How did you—? I mean, yeah. Sort of. I messed around a little bit at my last school."

"Nah, come on, I've seen your work, you're pretty good." The guy clapped him on the back. "You should come work for us, squirt. We could use a shutterbug like you—"

"Clint, stop trying to recruit the freshmen." Peter jumped; the gorgeous redhead to his left had appeared out of nowhere.

"Come on, Natasha, do you know how many people are graduating this year?" The guy, apparently Clint, complained. "We need fresh meat."

"Clint,  _you're_  graduating." The girl, Natasha, rolled her eyes.

"And I want the yearbook to be in good hands when I'm gone." Clint just jutted out his chin at her, pulling Peter along. "Come on kid, you can sit with me and the other Avengers."

"The Avengers?" Peter questioned, though he let himself be pulled forward. "I thought that was the school mascot."

"It is. But it's also what people call us, because if you go to this school and don't know who we are, you're basically non-existent." Clint grinned. "We're kind of teen royalty."

The students around them seemed to part for Clint, Natasha and himself like the Red Sea, and Peter found himself growing nervous. The group they seemed to be walking towards was in the center of the quad, and there was a ring of space around the group that clearly marked them as the popular kids on campus. Oh god, could he handle this? What if they thought he was lame? He was only a freshman, what did they even want with him?

"Hey guys! This is Peter Parker, our new photographer." Clint dropped down between Natasha and another blonde.

"Possible photographer," Peter corrected carefully, sitting between Clint and the blonde.

Assorted hello's met his arrival. It was a large group, six in total, nine with their arrival, and Clint gestured to them each in turn, starting with himself.

"I'm Clint Barton; senior beta, yearbooker, and Captain of the archery squad—"

"Because the archery squad does not in fact exist and is something he made up in his head." Natasha rolled her eyes.

"This dream-crusher—" Clint shot a glare at Natasha. "—is Natasha Romanov. She's a senior, the most terrifying alpha you'll ever meet, and a yearbooker like me. She knows everything about everyone; it's why her hair is so big, it's full of secrets," he whispered. Natasha swatted him, but he just continued unfazed. "Don't get any ideas though; she's in an alpha bond with Bucky Barnes, a graduate, and he'll rip to you shreds for a sideways glance. Next to her is junior beta Sam Wilson and senior alpha Thor Odinson, both varsity linebackers. And man, you haven't been to a party until you've been to a party thrown by them."

"Believe it." Sam grinned, fist-bumping Thor.

"The pretty brunette next to Thor is his beta, junior Jane Foster, vice president of the science club and smartest chick you'll ever meet."

"Smartest  _chick?"_  Jane raised an eyebrow.

"He means to say that you are the most intelligent person in all the realms, darling." Thor pressed a mollifying kiss to Jane's temple.

"Thor also tends to be kinda poetic, but you get used to it," Clint whispered, "He's better than his brother, anyway. Next to Jane is Bruce Banner, senior beta, president of the science club, and all-around genius. Also, he sells the  _best_  weed if you're looking."

"Clint." Bruce shot Clint a warning look.

"Theoretically, I mean." Clint hummed innocently. "Next to him is junior alpha Pepper Potts, editor-in-chief of the newspaper, vice president of student council, and the busiest, most efficient life-ruiner you'll ever meet."

"Only if they deserve it," Pepper clarified, but a sneaky sort of smile accompanied the statement.

"And next to Pepper is senior alpha Steve Rogers. He does graphics work for us sometimes, but most people know him as star quarterback and captain of the football team, not to mention the friendliest guy you'll ever meet. You know him, you know everyone."

"Clint." Steve just chuckled with a hint of a blush, waving a hand at Peter. "Nice to meet you, Peter. You're a freshman?"

"Yeah, I—"

"Who's the new kid?" Another guy was making his way through the crowd, stepping between Pepper and Steve to get into the center of their circle. He collapsed on the grass, positioning himself so his head was in Steve's lap, then took Steve by the collar of his shirt and pulled him down into an upside down kiss. "Hey you."

"Hey you." Steve smiled back, a touch dopily, his fingers already tangling in the guy's hair and stroking it back while the guy pulled out his phone, typing away at the speed of light. "That's Peter Parker, a new photographer for the yearbook."

"Possibly," Peter corrected, but raised a hand in greeting to the new guy. "You are?"

"Tony Stark."

"My mate," Steve added happily, as if their taken pheromones weren't so strong Peter could've smelled it from across the quad.

"Don't mind them, they're obnoxious." Clint waved a hand. Peter expected them to protest, but they were already busy talking amongst themselves. "To give you a little more information, he's also a senior, president of student council, and likely the smartest guy you'll ever meet, if a total asshole."

"Fuck off, dickbag." Tony shot back, flipping Clint off without so much as glancing away from Steve.

"Point proven. He's also an omega."

Complete silence met this statement, and everyone turned to assess Peter's reaction to this news.

"That's not a problem, is it?" It was Tony who asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge, but it was the look in Steve's eyes that stopped Peter dead.

Less than a minute ago he'd been described as the friendliest guy in school, had blushed at the title, and smiled like he'd won the lottery when he caught sight of his mate. He'd seemed like nothing more than a cheerful, easy-going dude.

Now, Peter was pretty sure if he answered this question incorrectly he was going to lose a limb.

"No." Peter quickly shook his head, addressing his answer to Steve. "Not at all, no hate, I swear, I've just never met one, we're cool, I promise, please don't eat me, you kind of look like you want to eat me—"

"He won't eat you." Tony snorted, patting Steve—who was still watching Peter warily for signs of a lie—on the arm pacifyingly. Then, with a wicked grin, "He does bite though."

"Tony." Steve still looked a bit grouchy, but his ears went red.

"Don't worry, he only bites me." Tony winked at Peter.

"That," Steve decided, leaning down, "Is enough out of you."

Tony shifted, sitting up and turning in Steve's lap to settle his arms around Steve's neck and kiss him properly. The group at large seemed unfazed, continuing to eat their food and resuming chatter amongst themselves. Eventually, Peter asked about it.

"Have they always been like, um, that?"

" _God_  no." Pepper snorted.

"Not even close." Bruce chuckled.

"They spent the majority of high school being literally too stupid to function." Clint rolled his eyes.

"Even after they bonded," Natasha added.

" _Especially_  after they bonded." Sam groaned.

"They had a most tumultuous beginning." Thor nodded solemnly.

Clint waved his hands for silence from the group, beginning to speak in a dramatic voice.

"It all started in the first week of last year…"


	2. Chapter 2

The first time Steve Rogers had an actual conversation with Tony Stark, he had to pull him off an alpha twice his size.

Steve liked to hang out on the bleachers when he sketched. Part of it was that he was excited for football season, but it was also the only place he could be alone during his free period. It was the first week of his junior year, and Steve was making his way around the field when he caught sight of a large crowd of lacrosse players behind the bleachers.

Steve, curious, jogged over to find Tiberius Stone, their star player, trying to punch someone into the ground. Though Tiberius was bigger, the other guy was faster, and he almost got away before the other players moved in to hold the guy down. Steve caught a flash of messy hair and bright eyes, and recognized him immediately: Tony Stark.

Tony had been in Steve's freshman biology class, and Steve had been nursing a painfully strong crush on him ever since. He was witty and outgoing and blindingly intelligent, not to mention incredibly handsome. He'd blown Steve away from the moment he'd stepped into the classroom, and it had been all Steve could do to shrink down and try not to be noticed. He'd still been under ninety pounds back then, so it hadn't exactly been hard. They were in History together this term, though Steve doubted Tony had noticed.

Steve quickly stepped in.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Oh, don't mind them." Tony just gave Steve a rueful smirk, wearing his black eye and bruised cheek like badges of honor. Even injured, Steve couldn't ignore the flickering thought that he was startlingly handsome; his taunting smile was sly, mischievous. "They're just beating on me cause I reminded lovely little Ty here that he has a pencil dick, and he didn't like being reminded he _experimented_ with an ome—"

Tiberius hauled off and slugged him before the guy could finish his sentence, but Steve knew what he'd been about to say.  _Omega._ Steve hated bullies, and though he'd been ready to intervene, pull Tiberius off himself if he had to, he felt himself freeze. Tony was one of those?

"I wouldn't touch you in a million years," Tiberius snarled at Tony, "Fucking omega."

Tony ripped his arm free from the other player's hold and tackled Tiberius with surprising strength, punching him in the mouth and splitting Tiberius' lips open with a red and gold ring on one of his fingers. The sight of blood shook Steve out of his surprised stupor and propelled him into motion.

"He's not worth it." Steve pulled Tony away, shooting Tiberius a dark look.

"I'm not—are you seriously defending that little bitch?" Tiberius looked disbelieving.

"What are you, a sympathizer?" A player Steve didn't recognize sneered.

"I don't like bullies." Steve swept a warning look through the crowd, giving off as much alpha pheromones as he could muster to back up his words. He shouldn't have frozen like that, and the least he could do was make sure he was taken seriously now. "I don't care who they're bullying."

"Whatever." Tiberius snorted. "He's all yours, you freaky omega-lover."

Once the athletes were gone, Steve turned to inspect Tony carefully.

"Hey, Captain Handsy." Tony swatted his hand away irritably. "Do you mind?"

"Sorry." Steve let his hand drop, a bit embarrassed. He hadn't meant to just start examining the guy without asking. "I used to get into fights a lot though, I know what to look for, concussion-wise, if you'll let me. It looked like you hit your head pretty hard on the concrete."

"It's fine." Tony was already backing away. "Look, I can fight my own battles. Thanks for the save and all, but next time, don't bother, alright?"

"What?" Steve blinked in surprise. Tony was lean, but he definitely had some muscle to him, and he'd certainly held his own as well as he could've against a whole team of lacrosse players. "I didn't think you couldn't handle it. I just wanted to help."

"Yeah, well, don't." Tony brushed past him.

"I'd do it for anyone," Steve insisted, "Is this some omega thing, not liking to be saved? Because I didn't mean to imply you were weak, I just—"

"An  _omega thing."_ Tony laughed loudly, sharply, in a way that gave Steve the distinct feeling he didn't find it funny at all. "Go fuck yourself."

"Hey, I didn't mean it like that—" Steve reached out to take Tony's arm, stop him from leaving.

It wasn't his best idea.

"Watch it." Tony jerked his arm away, narrowing his eyes in challenge. "Omega or not, try anything and I'll kick your ass."

"You?" A laugh bubbled out without Steve meaning to. He couldn't help it. He'd blossomed over this past summer into a six-foot, muscular linebacker; the only guy on campus who could take him was Thor,  _maybe._ He hadn't meant to imply anything about Tony, or omegas in general, it was just funny.

"Yeah,  _me."_ Tony gave a low, threatening snarl, and he looked ready to pounce if Steve made a wrong move. "Got a problem with that, alpha boy?"

"No." Steve quickly shook his head, laughter dissipating. "No, I don't. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply anything about omegas—"

"Why is everything about  _omegas_ with you?" Tony demanded.

"It's not, you're just so  _touchy_ about it—" Steve protested.

"I am  _not!"_

"I'm a foot taller and twice as wide as you, and when I laugh at you saying you can take me, you think it's because you're an omega! I was just laughing because you're short!"

Silence.

Steve resisted the urge to groan; he really couldn't make more wrong moves if he tried, at this point.

"Because I'm  _short?_ Fuck you, I'm compact!"

"Which is a cute word for short," Steve couldn't help pointing out.

" _Cute?"_

Steve really just needed to stop talking.

"Not cute, I mean, uh—"

"You think I'm cute." Tony seemed momentarily thrown, and it was perhaps that moment's pause that made Steve lose all common sense and say what he said next.

"Yeah." Steve immediately felt himself blush from the tips of his ears all the way down the back of his neck. What had possessed him to admit that? He really,  _really_  ought to stop talking now. Not to mention that at the admittance Tony made the most indignant face Steve had ever seen. "I mean, uh…no?"

"No, you don't think I'm cute, or no, you don't not think I'm cute?"

"I think you're confusing."

"You didn't answer the question."

"I'm a little afraid to."

"Look at that, an alpha afraid of an omega." Tony smirked. "Careful, we might revolutionize the world."

"I think you could do that all on your own, to be honest." Steve gave a tentative smile, extending a hand. "Steve Rogers, by the way."

"Steve… _Rogers?"_ Tony looked startled, stepping back and looking at him like he'd never seen a human being before in his life.

"…yes?" Steve tried to figure out why that would be a problem, but came up with nothing. "Why?"

"Nothing, just a weird name, I have class, don't you have class? I have to go bye!"

Tony was gone before he had a chance to respond.

"Weird name?" Steve gave a confused frown in his absence. Rogers was a pretty standard name. He checked his watch next; they had twenty minutes until class.

Steve had always gotten the impression, through books and TV and whatever else, that omegas were just naturally weak. Everything he'd seen made them out to be little more than whiny, effeminate push-overs. Anytime they were around alphas, they seemed unable to do much but cower, and depending on the program, roll over and spread their legs. Steve changed the channel on those shows quickly of course, but he'd sort of just assumed that's what omegas were really like. Consequently, he'd never been very interested in them, romantically or even just in general.

Tony, however, was a whirlwind; a perplexing, frustrating, endlessly fascinating whirlwind.

In hindsight, Steve never stood a chance.

* * *

"Tones, if you stare any harder you're gonna set the guy on fire."

"What guy? I don't know what you're talking about, there's no guy." Tony whipped his head back around, digging into his lunch with renewed vigor.

"The new guy you've been staring at all lunch." Rhodey just snorted. "Don't tell me you've finally replaced Steve?"

Tony gave a garbled groan and resisted the urge to faceplant into his pasta.

"Subtlety is not your friend." Rhodey just snorted, turning to Clint. "I'm sure you know who he is. Fill me in, Barton."

"Actually, that is Steve. He had a stellar growth spurt this summer, and rumor is he'll even be trying out for the football team. Bigger rumor is he might make varsity right off the bat." Clint rattled off the information easily. "Rogers saved him yesterday from a group of lacrosse players, and Tony didn't recognize him at first so he was his usual asshole self and now he's humiliated."

"You are so obnoxious." Tony glared at Clint.

"So they are picking on you again," Rhodey growled at Tony, "Fell down the stairs my ass."

"I can handle it,"Tony snapped, resisting the urge to duck his face to hide his black eye and bruised cheek a little better.

"He actually did very well for himself," Natasha said, "Split Tiberius Stone's lip open and nearly gave him a concussion."

"Have I mentioned how freaky you two are?" Tony grumbled, splitting a glare between Natasha and Clint.

They were both on the yearbook team, aka Mr. Coulson's merry band know-it-all narcs. The yearbook kids knew everything about everyone, and having two of them in his friend group was a pain in the ass, particularly when Rhodey or Pepper got snoopy. Bruce, thankfully, tended to stay out of his business, which made him unequivocally Tony's favorite.

"You shouldn't keep taking them on alone, Tony," Bruce advised, "You ought to let us help."

"I'm demoting you," Tony grumbled, "You're officially no longer my favorite."

"So, with that open spot in mind…" Clint leaned across the table with a grin. "When considering me as your new favorite, keep in mind that I can tell you everything about Rogers you'd ever need to know."

"I don't need to know anything," Tony mumbled into his pasta, "God, you assholes are so invasive. Mind your own damn business."

"He's a briefs man, for one." Clint hummed.

"I don't care." Tony was lying through his teeth, and the small gulp he gave at the mental image gave him away to everyone. "I  _don't."_

"You're picturing it right now." Natasha said in amusement.

"I am  _not."_

"He's a virgin, too." Clint grinned.

Tony accidentally snorted pasta up his nose.

"Lovely." Bruce sighed.

"What kind of sources do you have, Clint?" Rhodey made a face.

"Hell if I know if he is, I just wanted to see Tony's face." Clint bust up laughing, and Tony threw his spork at him.

"I fucking hate you guys," Tony grouched, still attempting to get the pasta out of his nose. A small corner of his mind was really, really hoping Steve hadn't seen him. The larger part of his mind told the smaller part of his mind to shut up.

"We just wanna see you happy, man." Rhodey clapped him on the shoulder.

"Yeah, whatever." Tony grumbled, stabbing his pasta with unnecessary force.

He knew that in their own, jerk way, his friends were just trying to help, but that didn't make it any better. It sounded whiny and childish, but the honest truth of it was that they didn't understand. They weren't  _capable_ of understanding. Omegas were incredibly rare, and none of them were one. He'd never made any secret of his status and they accepted him as he was, but public knowledge about omegas was minimal.

Tony had been doing biological research about himself and his body as long as he could remember, but even most of what he knew was guesswork and personal experience. What he did know was that he couldn't bond normally. He could have sex, of course, was more than capable and experienced in it thank you very much, but he couldn't bond. Sure, he could just  _decide_  to be in a relationship with someone, but it wouldn't be normal. He wouldn't have the connection with them everyone else did with their bondmate.

The only bond omegas were only capable of was a soulbond. He'd told his friends that, but they didn't understand what it meant, and Tony hadn't wanted to explain it to them. It felt personal, somehow, and he'd never been one to over-share.

In spite of this, the idea fascinated Tony. Being so close to someone, so completely and irreversibly  _theirs_ that you could sense their emotions, where they were, practically what they were thinking...well, part of it terrified him. As someone who'd always played his cards extremely close to his chest, the idea of being laid bare was nothing short of terrifying.

But there was another part of Tony, one buried much deeper and cloaked in shadow so Tony wouldn't have to look at it too closely, that wanted it. Hoped for it, even, in spite of all rational thought that told him the odds of finding someone who could accept him, all of him, with all his broken parts and jagged edges and nasty history, were practically nonexistent.

And he was okay with that. He didn't need to be bonded. He had his friends and his inventions and great, if meaningless, sex pretty much on tap and he could just…be on his own, and be okay with that. He was Tony fucking Stark. He didn't need anyone but himself.

And if he couldn't stop staring at Steve, well, that was no one's business but his own.

They'd met freshman year. Well, by "met" Tony meant more along the lines of "he stared at the guy shamelessly for an entire semester", but whatever. They'd never talked before yesterday, but Tony had noticed him immediately. How could he not? Steve was sincere and goofy and kind, with the brightest smile Tony had ever seen. In their shared classes, Steve was a good student, motivated and intelligent enough to pick up the material, even if he spent most of his time drawing. Tony, consequently, had spent most of his time trying to sneak a peek.

Tony couldn't believe he hadn't recognized him.

But then, who could blame him? Steve had grown like three feet and popped muscles out of every damn crevice known to man; Tony had been attracted to him before, but now he was just playing dirty. He spared another glance at Steve across the quad. He was laughing at something one of his friends at said, one of those wide, genuinely happy smiles that reminded Tony of sunshine and rainbows and kittens all jam-packed into one unfairly gorgeous human being.

"It doesn't matter, he's a conservative anyway," Tony grumbled, trying to remind himself as much as his friends.

"Bullshit." Natasha snorted, not even looking up from her book.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tony cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Rogers has a stubborn streak a mile wide, and has applied it liberally in the past defending anyone and everyone who needed it." Natasha flicked a page, still not looking up. "Doesn't sound like someone who would consider you a second-class citizen for the way you were born."

"Well, you didn't have a conversation with the guy, okay?"

"Did he say something to you?" Rhodey frowned, immediately on the defensive.

"He just…" Tony made a scrunched up face as he tried to explain. "He acted like I needed some bigshot alpha to step in and fight my battles for me. Then when I told him he could fuck off, he—"

"Tony," Bruce sighed, "Your social skills are appalling, and that's coming from me."

"Not  _literally,"_ Tony insisted, "At least, not at first. But then he asked if it was some omega thing, and he had the gall to  _laugh_ when I said I could totally take him—"

"Tony, have you seen him?" Rhodey snorted. "You could be an alpha and he could still step on you if he wanted—"

"Yes, the topic of height came up quite quickly,  _thank you."_ Tony glared at Rhodey. Then, still flustered just remembering it, "He called me cute, Rhodey!  _Cute!"_

"So he likes you." Bruce chuckled.

"Only Stark could tell a guy to fuck off and get hit on in the next sentence," Clint complained.

"No," Tony protested, "What? Cute isn't good! Cute is bad, cute is emasculating! He was making me out to be some kind of chick for being an omega!"

"Tony." Rhodey sighed. "Not that there aren't plenty of people who do have a stick up their ass about the omega thing, but do you think you might be a little quick to assume this guy is one of them?"

"I'm pretty sure he just thought you were cute, dude." Clint nodded. "The good cute."

"There is no  _good cute!"_ Tony sputtered.

"Do you think he's cute?" Natasha eyed him cryptically over her book.

"I—what, no, I mean, he's kind of—he blushes a lot, and he stutters sometimes, and his eyes do this thing, but he's not  _cute—"_

"You think he's cute," Natasha decided for him, "So there is in fact a good cute, isn't there?"

Tony made a garbled sound that might've been a yes but might've also been a fuck you.

"His eyes 'do a thing'?" Rhodey raised an eyebrow. "Do I even wanna know?"

He was not about to admit out loud that he'd noticed Steve's eyes kind of sparkled when he laughed.

"Nothing, they do nothing. They're stupid eyes. Stupid, boring—" Perfect, mesmerizing— "Eyes, okay? They're just eyes."

"Sure, Tony." Bruce chuckled.

Tony slumped over the table with a groan.

"I fucking hate you guys."

* * *

"Rogers, if you don't get off your ass I will punch you in the throat."

Steve whipped around to gape at Bucky in disbelief.

"Excuse me?"

"You played stare tag with Stark for all of lunch earlier, now he's leaving for the day and you're not even doing anything!" Bucky rolled his eyes. They were all sitting at their usual table like they did everyday after school, chatting while they did their homework. "It's been two freaking years. I get that before you were all self-conscious—which is bullshit, but whatever—but you look like a fucking Abercrombie model now. Just  _get up_  and  _talk to him_  already, Christ."

"It's not that simple, Buck." Steve felt his cheeks heat. "Wait, what do you mean, tag? He was staring back?"

"Throat. Punch."

"Bucky." Sam rolled his eyes. "Go easy on him."

"Okay, look, it was one thing when you were tiny and thought he wouldn't be interested, but come on!" Bucky complained, "You're a big, strapping alpha, what've you got to be afraid of now?"

"I must agree." Thor nodded solemnly. "You are a fine specimen, Steven, and I am certain your virility as a mate is obvious even to Anthony—"

"Oh my God." Steve buried his face in hands.

"Stop embarrassing him, Thor." Jane smacked her alpha's arm, chastising. She was the only one who could tell when Thor was being serious and when he was playing up his foreign-ness for his own amusement. The latter happened surprisingly often. "He's teasing, but you really should talk to him. I know Tony, he comes by science club to hang out with Bruce and show us up sometimes. He can occasionally be a bit much, but he's pretty outgoing, he's not going freak out if you start up a conversation with him."

"I know...but what would I even say?" Steve sighed. "Hey, I've been staring at you for two years and rescued you against your will yesterday, want to go out sometime?"

"Works for me." Bucky shrugged.

"That's because you don't have a romantic bone in your body." Jane rolled her eyes before turning back to Steve. "What do you mean, you rescued him against his will?"

Oops.

He hadn't actually meant to mention that. It meant Tony being an omega might slip out, and he had no idea if that was a secret or not. If the whole lacrosse team knew he supposed it was bound to get out anyway, but it still didn't feel right to tell anyone. Not that being an omega was a bad thing, Steve quickly corrected himself. It was just…unexpected.

Omegas were extremely rare. Steve hadn't even known there  _were_  any at Shield. He'd actually been under the assumption that Tony was an alpha; he'd always seemed like one. He was outgoing and energetic and effortlessly charming, easily able to convince anyone to follow his lead. He was magnetic in a way the media had always taught him alphas were supposed to be, but then, health and safety class had gone a long way towards teaching him he shouldn't be so quick stereotype. Biologically speaking, status didn't really influence anything but sexual preferences and personal identity. There were mellow alphas and aggressive betas and everything in between; who was to say the same didn't apply to omegas?

It didn't change his perception of Tony, at least not much. It did give him questions though; omegas supposedly weren't able to bond right. They were supposed to just be all about sex, which, considering how much Tony was rumored to get around, which kind of fit the bill, but…Steve wasn't interested in casual sex. He liked Tony. He'd wanted, for a while now, to try a bond with him.

Steve didn't know how to feel about this new information though, and he'd spent the past twenty four hours trying to sort it out to no avail.

"Hey, loverboy." Bucky was snapping his fingers in front of Steve's face. "What d'you mean, you rescued him against his will?"

"Oh." Steve tried to answer the question as simply as possible. "Some lacrosse players were picking on him and I intervened. He didn't like that. He thought it meant I thought he couldn't handle himself."

"He was probably embarrassed to be shown up by you." Jane chuckled knowingly. "Probably means he likes you."

"I don't think that was it." Steve hedged noncommittally.

"Look, you just need to ball up," Bucky decided, "You've talked to him now, right?"

"If you can call arguing and some unintentional insults a conversation—"

"Only you would accidentally insult the guy you've been mooning over for two years." Sam snickered.

"Not helpful, Sam." Jane shot him a look.

"It counts," Bucky determined with a wave of his hand, "So you've had a conversation. That's good, that's what we in the game call an opening."

"The game?" Steve raised an eyebrow.

"The dating game." Sam rolled his eyes, obviously having heard this before.

"Bucky, you don't date." Steve snorted. Bucky loved having girls all over him, but he could never stick to one for long.

"Maybe not, but at least I'm in touch with my alpha side."

"Yeah, he's touching himself alright," Sam snickered to Steve, who laughed.

"Rude," Bucky grumbled, "I'm serious! C'mon Steve, when's the last time you let loose?"

"Let what loose, exactly?" Steve rolled his eyes. "You say that like I'm repressed or something for not chasing tail all the time."

"Don't you want to fuck Tony?" Bucky demanded.

"Oh my  _God_ , Bucky—" Steve ignored the shot of arousal that hit him just at the thought.

"Hey, I'm straight, but I get it, the guy's attractive, right? So go get your screw on and get him out of your system already."

"Bucky!"

"Or get fucked by him if that's what you're into, I don't know how that kinky double alpha shit works, no judgment—"

"He's not even an alpha," Steve said before he could stop himself.

"Even better then! Come on, don't you wanna make him your beta?" Bucky made a crude hand gesture.

"You are being unnecessarily crass, James." Thor shot Bucky a reproving look. "I would never in my life say such things in reference to Jane, but I assure you I am well in touch with my alpha side."

"He's got you there, Buck," Sam pointed out, "Thor's the only one here who's actually had a mate for more than a couple weeks."

"Speaking as a beta?" Jane put in, "If someone like Bucky talked to me like that by way of proposition, I'd knee him in the crotch."

"And I would make him regret his birth." Thor hummed happily, leaning in to kiss Jane's temple.

"Follow their example," Sam advised to Steve with a smile, "Ignore Bucky. I'm sure he and his hand are very happy together, but I don't think that's the kind of relationship you're looking for."

"Fuck off," Bucky grumbled, returning to his homework moodily. "I get more than everyone here combined."

Thor gave a loud, boisterous laugh, and Jane flushed a pretty pink.

"That seems like a pretty resounding no." Steve grinned at Bucky.

"Whatever." Bucky scowled. "Look, can we all at least agree that Steve needs to talk to this guy?"

"Can we all agree that as true as that is, Bucky should not be the one giving Steve advice?" Sam retorted.

"Agreed," the group resounded.

"You guys are dicks," Bucky complained.

"I take exception to that." Jane smirked.

"Physically, maybe," Bucky grunted.

"I suggest you choose your words very wisely, James," Thor rumbled, and Bucky made a squeaky noise somewhat resembling an 'eep'.

"Wow, I didn't know voices went that high."

Steve practically leapt out of his skin.

Tony was standing behind him with an amused smile, and Steve couldn't for the life of him discern if he was amused at Bucky's voice breaking or if he'd overheard more than he should've. It was nerve-inducing, to say the least.

Terrifying might be another word for it.

"Tony!" Steve turned around, doing his best not to let his mouth hang open. "I mean, hi. What are you—can I help—what's up?"

Could he just die already?

"You have History with Coulson third period, right?"

"Yeah."  _With you._

"I do too. Did you get the homework?"

"Yeah, did you need, uh—" Steve froze, trying to think of a word that wasn't 'help'. "Did you want to work together?"

"If you're not busy? I'm great at multiple choice, but Coulson's a bitch so of course there's a ton of fill in the blank."

Steve started to tell Tony he could probably google most of this stuff, before quickly biting his tongue.

"Have a seat." Steve smiled in offer.

"Here, take mine." Bucky stood up abruptly, tugging Sam along by the arm. "We have a thing."

"We do?" Sam blinked, and Steve resisted the urge to groan. His friends were horrifically obvious.

"Yes. We do. Don't we Thor?" Bucky shot Thor a pointed look as well. "The football thing."

"Yes, verily!" Thor leapt to his feet as well, tucking his arm into Jane's. "Come along, darling."

"You're on the football team?" Tony looked at Jane. "I thought science club was your thing."

"It is." Jane, thankfully, was a fast thinker. "I'm going for moral support."

"Right." Tony seemed dubious. The others left, but he didn't sit down. He was giving Steve an inscrutable look, and eventually Steve gave in.

"What?"

"You told them." Tony seemed more disbelieving than angry. Steve was so busy worrying Tony had figured out Steve had a crush on him that it took him a minute to piece together that Tony meant about him being an omega.

"No!" Steve insisted. Tony didn't seem to believe him. "Really, I promise. I didn't know if you told people or not, so I didn't say a word."

"Funny, because that's the exact reaction it usually gets." Tony turned to glance at the group, watching as they turned a corner.

"That wasn't, that was just…" Steve ran a hand through his hair.  _They just left because they know I have it bad for you and wanted to give me some alone time. Yeah, that'll go over great._ "There's a football meeting before try-outs this Friday, and Thor doesn't go anywhere without Jane, it's just their thing."

"I guess I do see him in science club with her when I go." Tony seemed to consider this. "Sorry."

"It's okay. I'd get pretty ticked if I thought someone was spreading personal information about me too."

"It's not a secret, exactly." Tony made a face like he expected Steve to disagree with what he was about to say. "I don't go around throwing off omega pheromones everywhere, but if someone asks I don't lie about it. I'm not ashamed of who I am."

"And you shouldn't be," Steve agreed, glad to have the opportunity to express his opinion better than he had the first time around, "I'm sorry if I reacted badly yesterday, I just, I say things without thinking sometimes, it's a really bad habit, and I've never met an omega before and you admittedly confused me a little—"

"What, you didn't think an omega could hold their own?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you're extremely defensive?"

"Yes," Tony winced, "Fair enough. That's my bad habit. One of them, anyway."

"It's alright." Steve smiled, gesturing to the open seat. "You can sit down, you know. I don't bite."

"Careful, I just might." Tony winked as he took the seat next to Steve, and Steve felt himself go red. "Nice blush, Rogers."

"You said you had History questions?" Steve diverted quickly. Tony let him, though if anything his grin widened.

"Yeah. Seven through seventeen are fill in the blanks, but I can't remember any of it. I mean, Coulson's such a hardass, it's like the third day of school, we're the only kids here who even  _have_ homework, much less fill in the blanks—"

Tony continued talking as he pulled out his worksheet, and Steve found that Jane had been right; as long as they steered clear of the topic of omegas, Tony was very easy to talk to. He was witty and funny, always ready with a quip or a comment about everything from World War II troop supplies to his theory about how Mr. Coulson secretly ruled the school.

"Don't laugh, I'm not kidding!" Tony insisted, "Do you know any yearbook kids?"

"No." Steve laughed. "Should I?"

"I know two of them, and I swear, they are the creepiest motherfuckers you'll ever meet. They know everything, Steve.  _Everything._  And they all report back to Coulson, like his little clone drones."

"Don't downplay it or anything, tell me what you really think." Steve chuckled. "And that's 1942, actually."

"Shut up." Tony elbowed him, but he was grinning. "What's 1942?"

"The next answer?"

"Oh, uh, right." Tony quickly scribbled in the answer. "The worksheet."

"Your yearbook friends…" Steve paused, glancing over Tony's shoulder. "Is one of them blonde?"

"And wearing a purple shirt?" Tony groaned, faceplanting on the table.

"Uh…" Steve peeked again. "Yeah, with an arrow on it?"

"That asshole," Tony grumbled into the table.

"Do your friends spy on you often?"

" _Always,"_ Tony hissed into the table, "I swear, I have the nosiest friends on the face of the planet."

"Trust me, you don't." Steve made a face, Bucky's crude words still swirling in his head.

"Try me."

"Well, one of them recently threatened to punch me in the throat if I didn't talk to someone I like."

"That sounds eerily like Romanov." Tony snorted. Then Steve's words seemed to catch up with him, and he looked up at Steve curiously. "Wait, who do you like?"

"Someone they think I like, I mean," Steve tried to correct himself, but Tony wasn't buying it.

"Fine, you don't have to tell me if you don't want," Tony affected a nonchalant voice, "You only know my deepest darkest secret, but hey, no trust, that's cool, I see how it is Rogers—"

"Are you guilt-tripping me?" Steve laughed. "You said yourself it wasn't a secret."

"Alright, so it's not a secret," Tony admitted, "But you should still tell me. I could help, I've banged plenty of betas before, I totally know what to do—"

"What?" Steve paused, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Y'know. Sex?"

"I know what sex is." Steve shot him a look. "I just mean…"

Steve scrambled for a way to phrase it that wouldn't offend Tony. He came up blank.

"Well. You're an omega."

"Yeah," Tony answered carefully, and Steve could practically  _see_ the walls jump up.

"You know what, it's none of my business, forget I—"

"Just ask." Tony sighed.

"Aren't betas and omegas incompatible?" Steve blurted.

"For bonds, yeah. But I can't bond with an alpha, either, so it doesn't really matter." Tony shrugged.

"You can't bond…at all?"

"Not exactly." Tony shifted a bit. "There's this thing…you ever heard of a soulbond?"

"Yes." His mother had talked about it a couple times. His grandparents had been soulbonded. He couldn't remember them, they'd died when he was too young, but any time the subject of his grandparents came up, so had the topic of their extraordinarily profound bond.

"Well. That's it, for me." Tony gave a humorless little snort of laughter. "Sex or soulmates."

"That seems extreme."

"Yeah, it's super fun." Tony said blithely, leaning forward and gesturing at the worksheet. "But as exciting as my sexual exploits are, maybe we could finish this up first?"

"Of course." Steve nodded quickly. "I'm sorry for bringing it up."

"Eh. You're curious." Tony gave a half-shrug. "Everyone is at first. Rhodey's my oldest friend, and I'm pretty sure even he's still got questions."

"Well, I'll keep mine to myself next time." Steve let the subject drop, redirecting them back to the worksheet. "What about twelve, do you remember anything about that one?"

"All I remember about that class is that Coulson talks a lot."

"Listening to the talking tends to help with the homework." Steve chuckled.

"It's also a valuable waste of genius brain-space."

They settled back into safer topics, and Steve pushed the questions still piling up as far to the back of his mind as he could.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony had mixed feelings on the subject of Steve, and the more he talked to him, the more mixed up it all got.

On the one hand, Steve was  _Steve._ There was a reason Tony had spent two years of his life daydreaming about guy. He was one of those people that should've been obnoxious with all their  _goodness_ but were somehow impossible to actually dislike. He had a fantastically dry sense of humor, and he could keep a perfect poker face while he told the joke, but the moment he got a laugh he just cracked out this brilliant, gorgeous smile, like seeing someone else happy was enough to make him happy too. He was ridiculously easy to talk to as well, mostly because he actually listened. Tony was well aware he could be overbearing and too sarcastic and tended to ramble, but Steve just kept  _listening,_ like Tony's endless digressions and wild theories actually interested him.

On the other hand, Tony was pretty sure Steve was only even still talking to him because he was an omega.

It had been three weeks since they'd first spoken, and they bumped into each other "accidentally" all the time. They did homework together a lot, in spite of the fact that Tony could breeze through it in ten minutes, but all the bumping into each other they suddenly seemed to do? Tony had a pretty good feeling that was entirely Steve's doing. This would've been pretty cool, if Tony wasn't certain it was only because Steve still had questions and was trying to work them in.

He kept catching Steve  _watching_ him, captivated, like he could understand omegas purely through observation. The minute Tony caught his eye he'd turn away, and his ears would go all red, clearly embarrassed about still having questions. Part of Tony wanted to sit down and run through every question Steve could possibly think of, just to see if maybe Steve was at all curious about the real him underneath all that omega crap.

But he already knew what would happen if he did.

If he answered all of Steve's questions, Steve would just get bored with him. Tony was interesting and new and a curiosity to Steve right now, and as bitter as Tony was about that, he didn't want it to end, either. So he ignored the lingering looks, and the way Steve would open his mouth to say something only to quickly shut it with a hurried smile and a quick redirection.

He took what he could get.

Sometimes, he could even forget Steve was only interested in the omega stuff. Hell, sometimes they could get to talking, and Tony could forget anyone else existed. Could forget they had a stupidly easy, ten question worksheet sitting in front of them for nearly two hours.

Today, unfortunately, was not one of those days.

Steve was psyched for football try-outs. They'd been postponed for almost month since the coach had a family emergency, but today was finally the day, and Steve had spent the past half hour all but wiggling with excitement. They were doing homework—really just killing time between school and tryouts, but the homework was Tony's excuse for sticking around—but between homework and excited-about-football-wiggling, Steve kept doing this  _thing._

He'd turn to Tony, a very serious and determined look on his face, like he was steeling his nerves for something, then drop his eyes back to the paper and blurt out a question about the material. Tony wasn't stupid; Steve obviously had a question, and it wasn't about the material. It was obviously something omega-related, because why else would Steve get all nervous and edgy about it?

It kind of pissed Tony off.

Even when Steve eventually had to leave for tryouts he hung back a bit, still dawdling, still apparently trying to find a way to work in whatever this deeply important question seemed to be.

"Would you go already?" Tony snapped, waving him on irritably. "You're going to be late."

"Right." Steve nodded quickly, picking up his backpack and taking his leave. "Yeah, I should go."

Tony, feeling bad at Steve's kicked puppy look—it wasn't Steve's fault he was curious, Tony tried to remind himself—caught Steve's wrist.

"Hey. You're gonna be great."

The smile Steve rewarded him with was dazzling, and worth every stupid omega question in the world.

"Thanks, Tony."

Tony watched him go. Well, more accurately, he watched Steve's ass—which was clearly a work of god, so really, it would be irreverent  _not_  to stare at every god-given opportunity—and once Steve turned the corner, he pulled out his phone to text Clint.

_I need a favor_

_wat do u hav 2 trade? i already own ur soul_

_Could you maybe not text like a drunken baby for ten minutes? It's distracting_

_u can 4get the favor if ur gonna insult me_

_Fine. I need to get into the football field without being seen_

_y?_

_I'm trying to set a record for getting beaten up this year_

_tht's a stupid recrd_

_Omg you dumbass, I just want to see Steve's football tryouts. Do you know any way I could do that without him seeing me?_

_meet back fence between portables nd back of bleachers_

Tony closed his phone, shoved his crap back into his backpack, and headed for the gate.

"I want you to know that this is stalking," Clint informed Tony seriously as he approached, "More importantly, I want you to know that I totally approve."

"Help me or shut up," Tony just grunted, hoisting his backpack up. He hopped up on the fence, scrambling for footing and slipping. He gripped it tighter and tried to pull upwards with just his hands, but just ended up squirming like a fish on a hook.

"So, you've clearly never climbed a fence before."

"Not exactly," Tony muttered, his attempts to to inch his way up going painfully slowly.

"You could just go in the front way, sign up for the football team."

"Ha!" Tony's startled laughter almost made him slip off entirely, and he quickly clung to the chainlink. "No. If I wanted to be pounded by alphas with rocks for brains, I can think of more enjoyable ways."

"Just a suggestion." Clint snorted, still watching Tony struggle to climb the fence with amusement.

"Hey, dickhead, are you coming or what?"

"Just enjoying the view for a minute."

"What view? I mean, I know I have a great ass and all—"

"The view of Tony Stark struggling," Clint corrected, "It's beautiful, really."

"Like you could do better," Tony grumbled. He finally hoisted a leg up and over the top, only to shout out in pain as he accidentally caught his junk on the wire, "Mother of _fuck!_ "

"Quiet down, they'll spot us," Clint shushed him, hopping up nimbly and scaling the fence like damn monkey. "Here, do it like this."

Clint swung over the top, barely even touching it, sliding down the other side smoothly and without wincing once. Tony swore creatively and tried to do the same, only to cut his hand, scrape his arm, and almost fall over on the landing. At least there had been minimal junk-spearing on the way down.

"Remind me never to stalk with you again. You're horrible at it." Clint shook his head.

"Remind me never to talk to you again. You're a douche."

"A douche who knows how you can watch Steve's tryout without being seen."

"Just lead the way already."

"So," Clint began as he led Tony behind the bleachers, "What exactly is the end goal here, Stark?"

"Friendship is magic, Barton, haven't you heard?"

"I watched one episode, you dick." Clint shoved him. "And don't change the subject."

"Friendship. Friendship is good."

"You don't stalk  _me_ like this, do you?"

"Shut up."

"Come on, Stark, man to man here. You've been pining over this guy for years, and now you've finally started talking to him, even if it is just spending obscene amounts of time on homework we both know you're more than capable of googling in like ten minutes—"

"My phone was dead—"

"Every day after school for the past month, conveniently only for the hours you were hanging out with Steve?"

"…my phone has a weird battery."

"And you have a weird brain. Which is why, as your best friend, I want to know your game plan here." Clint shot him a serious look over his shoulder. "I know you're all about the casual sex, but I really don't think he's that kind of guy. And to be honest man? I don't think that's what you want from him."

"Well, if you know everything, why don't you just tell me what I want?" Tony sniped.

"I think you want a relationship with him."

"You know perfectly well that can't happen." Tony didn't look at Clint.

"Says who?" Clint insisted.

"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate that you're making a point here to treat me like everyone else, but there are certain levels on which I'm just not." Tony ran a hand through his hair. "Bonding is one of them. I can't bond, not like you guys. Why would Steve want to be in a relationship with someone he can't even bond with?"

"I thought omegas could do that whole…" Clint made a strange, mind-reading sort of gesture. "Soulbond thing."

"Theoretically. But that happens once in my life, and there are billions of people in the world. The odds of me meeting that  _one specific person_  when I'm sixteen and stuck in a public high school with maybe a hundred other people? They're beyond astronomical, they're practically impossible."

Tony left out the fact that he wasn't exaggerating and that he had, at one mostly bored, ever-so-slightly hopeful point, done the actual math.

"It's a  _soulmate,_ dude." Clint just shook his head. "That it's against all odds is the  _point._ Have a little faith, who knows, maybe—"

"Don't even suggest it." Tony rolled his eyes with a grimace. "Besides, it takes months to form."

"You've been pining over him for two years," Clint pointed out.

"Months of  _sex,"_ Tony corrected with a scowl, "Months of casual, unbonded sex that I guarantee you alpha boy scout goody-two shoes out there has no interest in,  _if_ we were even compatible for a soulbond to begin with."

"Can't you…I don't know, sniff him?"

"Were you dropped on your head as a child? I'm not a fucking dog, Barton."

"I'm just saying! I can smell that Thor's taken from clear over here, and he's out on the football field—oh, wait, I think that's actually Jane, she's probably above us in the bleachers—whatever, not the point. The point is, if I can smell when people are bonded, maybe omegas can smell when someone's their soulmate."

"I'm pretty sure if that were true it would've popped up at some point in the past sixteen years of research I've been doing."

"Man, you are so freaking cynical." Clint clapped him on the shoulder, leading him further behind the bleachers. "This soulmate of yours—that I am totally sure you're going to find if I have to track them down myself—is going to have to be the most patient motherfucker on the planet."

"Thanks. I think."

"You're maybe welcome." Clint ducked under the last row and up some stairs, Tony trailing behind him.

They came up across a door, and Clint pulled out his keychain. He flicked through his ridiculous amount of keys until he found the right one, then unlocked the door and gestured Tony inside. It was the announcer's box; Tony didn't know how Clint had a key to it, and he didn't want to know.

They settled in to watch the tryouts, Clint narrating the events and clarifying the rules for a completely lost Tony. It was clear from Clint's commentary that Steve was good. Better than good, Steve was  _great—_ for all his physique was new, he'd either been practicing like hell or had natural talent. From what he knew of the guy Tony was willing to bet it was largely the former, but there had to be some natural talent in there too. According to Clint, no one could make play after play like that without it.

The coach was brutal, eliminating people on the spot for so much as taking a breather without explicit permission. It went on forever, and the lists of who would be varsity and who would be junior varsity wouldn't be posted until Monday, but Steve stuck it through and was a shoe-in for at least one of the teams by the end of it.

"Come on, let's scram." Clint picked his backpack up while the footballers huddled up for a meeting, and Tony shot one last look at Steve before following suit.

He didn't wish he'd been born differently. He was proud of who he was. He owned and accepted his differences, and had fought like hell to surround himself with other people who did too. It didn't, however, stop him from wondering what it might be like to have it that easy. To just decide hey, I like you, let's try a bond, and have that be that.

Maybe then Steve might've been interested in him as a human being instead of just some omega.

* * *

"You know, this is my fault." Bucky leaned against his locker with a dramatic sigh. "Really, I blame myself."

"Do you?" Steve humored him, opening up his own and pulling out his chemistry book.

"Yes. It was obviously my terrifying threats that made you speak to him."

"He came to me, actually." Steve hummed happily, still inordinately pleased by that.

"Semantics." Bucky waved a hand. "And that was the first time. Every time  _since_  then, you're the one pulling off crazy, stupid schemes that should only ever be used in rom-coms."

"It's hardly a crazy scheme, Buck." Steve rolled his eyes. "I just happen to need Jane's help with my science homework. She just happens to be in a science club meeting at the moment."

"You're on a slippery slope, Steve-o. Next thing I know, you'll be offering the guy flowers or something!"

"No, I don't think he'd like that very much." Steve wrinkled his nose. Definitely not. He was fairly certain he'd get something along the lines of 'you can stuff those flowers and all your other degrading, conformist beliefs right up your ass'.

But that was Tony, and Steve could definitely work with that.

"Why are you smiling like that? It's creepy." Bucky made a face. "You're thinking about him, aren't you?"

"No."

"The neon pink of your ears says yes."

"Lay off already, would you?" Steve shoved him. "You don't have to wait with me, y'know."

"Yes I do. I'm the only sane person in your life, Steve, it's my duty to keep you from diving off the deep end here."

"The deep end?" Steve raised a skeptical eyebrow.

" _Commitment,"_ Bucky whispered in a voice usually reserved for horror stories.

"We've only known each other a month or so, Bucky, relax." Steve checked his phone for the umpteenth time in the past five minutes. No text from Jane yet. "I'm working up to asking him out, not to marry me."

He was still irked he hadn't managed to get the guts to ask Tony if he wanted to come watch his football tryouts. He'd meant to, he'd spent the entire time between school and the tryouts  _trying_ to, but every time he'd caught Tony's eye, he'd chickened out.

"You spend more time with him than you do with me lately," Bucky whined, "I have best friend privilege here Steve, come on."

"This is your roundabout way of tricking me into another all-nighter Call of Duty tournament at your house, isn't it?" Steve saw right through Bucky's antics.

"We have to celebrate somehow!" Bucky threw an arm around Steve's shoulders. "You made  _varsity,_ man! That's a big fucking deal!"

"Bucky, it's a  _Monday_ ," Steve said in token protest, "I can't stay up all night."

"You are so lame, I swear to god, it's like you're secretly ninety years old or something—"

"Tell you what, we'll have it this Friday, okay?" Steve gave in.

"Uh." Bucky froze. "Yeah, cool, sure, totally, let's do that, except, maybe not, I think I'm getting the flu—"

Bucky put on a show of coughing and wheezing, and Steve just rolled his eyes. "Bucky."

"Steve. Stevie. Steve-o. Steve-bear—"

"What are you planning, Barnes?" Steve narrowed his eyes.

"Nothing, just a—a nothing, nothing at all, okay? Stop glaring, Steve, you'll get wrinkles, you don't want to get wrinkles at seventeen, do you?"

"I gonna wrinkle  _you_  up in a minute if you don't tell me what you're planning."

"It's just an itsy bitsy teensy tiny…" Bucky hesitated, then blurted out, "RageratThor'stocelebrateyoumakingtheteam."

"A rager?" Steve groaned, not even clear on what was supposed to differentiate a 'rager' and a 'party'. "Bucky, you know I don't like that stuff."

"It's not for you, Steve, don't be so self-absorbed—"

"But you just said—"

"Yes, we're celebrating getting a fucking awesome new linebacker and actually having a shot at the play-offs this year, it just so happens you're that linebacker. Coincidence, really."

"Bucky…" Steve started to warn, but his phone went off before he could convince Bucky to reconsider.

_Tony's here today, but I don't think he's staying long, he just wants to prove a point to Hank and me. Might want to hurry._

_Thanks Jane._ Steve texted back quickly, then tucked his phone into his pocket and headed off down the hall, calling over his shoulder, "Don't think we're done talking about this!"

"Buzzkill!" Bucky just called back. "Don't forget to ask your alpha's permission to go out for a night!"

Steve flipped Bucky the bird, but continued down the hall. He sought out classroom 307, knocked once, then let himself in. There weren't many people, and Steve recognized pretty much everyone in the room, if only as acquaintances. Reed Richards, a senior and president of the club, was doing some equation up on the board, while Sue Storm, another senior and the vice president—only because she was his alpha, Jane complained often—was right behind him, reading something out of a textbook. Her brother, Johnny Storm, a JV player Steve recognized from try-outs, sat in the corner throwing and catching a basketball, his spring sport of choice. Steve had a strong feeling Sue had something to do with his attendance.

Juniors Hank Pym and Bruce Banner, along with Jane and Tony, were in the back corner messing with the chemistry equipment. They were intently focused on a vial of purple liquid Hank was holding above a burner; not one of them even glanced up at his entrance. The liquid suddenly changed color, turning bright green and beginning to bubble up. Hank and Jane scowled, while Tony whooped loudly and did a double high five with Bruce.

"Now that's science, bitches!" Tony declared, nudging Jane out of his way to take over for Hank. "Check this out, I can even make it—"

"Hello, Steven!" Thor boomed from the lab table he was sitting on, the first to catch sight of Steve. "Come watch, they are most entertaining in their competitions!"

"St—?" Tony's head snapped up right as he was moving the vial, and he dropped it on Bruce. "Shitfuck!"

The liquid spilled everywhere. It thankfully didn't seem to burn, but it did stain: Bruce's hands and the front of his clothes were now bright green.

"Tony." Bruce closed his eyes calmly. "I am going to murder you."

"Not the face, I like my face—"

"You're making me angry, Tony." Bruce's eyes flashed open, pinning Tony with a glare that made Tony step back. "You wouldn't like me when I'm angry."

"Nope definitely not have I mentioned how much I love and value you today Bruce because I do I really do—" Tony was talking faster than the speed of light, backing away with his hands up. "—mistakes have clearly been made here most of them by me and a little bit by Reed because he's a dick—"

"I resent that." Reed didn't so much as pause in his writing to sigh at Tony.

"No, you resemble it, but the point isn't that Reed's head resembles a dick—which it does—the point is that I am an innocent in this, a victim, really, of bad circumstances and poor timing—"

"I'm starting to remember why we kicked you out of the club." Sue sighed as Hank and Jane started helping Bruce towel off. Tony seemed wary to get close to Bruce at that point, and the death glares Bruce was throwing Tony's way kind of validated it.

"That is  _hurtful,_ Susan, I am appalled—"

"You did nearly blow up half the building." Hank pointed out, "We were lucky this ti—"

Bruce shut Hank up with a displeased glare.

"…some of us were lucky." Hank winced.

"Yes, okay, it looks bad," Tony admitted, "But can we all just agree that punching me in the face is not a good solution—"

"Disagree," Reed interjected.

"Okay, this kind of behavior is why everyone thinks your head looks like a dick, Reed—"

"You are the only person who thinks that." Sue rolled her eyes.

"If there's going to be Tony-punching, I totally volunteer," Johnny offered, still playing with his basketball idly.

Steve started forward, about to tell Johnny he'd have to go through him first, when Jane intervened.

"Anyway, why are you here, Steve?" she shot him a pointed look, and Steve remembered how Tony had reacted the last time he'd defended him. Right. Shoot. Thank goodness for Jane.

"Oh, uh." He held his chemistry book aloft. "Did you understand Mr. Sitwell's lecture earlier? I was totally lost."

"Yeah, of course, I could tutor you if you…well, actually." Jane paused, and if Steve didn't know exactly what she was doing, he totally would've bought it. "Tony, if you've got some spare time, maybe you could? You're better with this sort of work, I'm more of a physics girl."

"Yeah, I could totally—" Tony starting walking towards Steve with a half-smile.

"Actually, Bruce would probably be better." Hank pointed out helpfully. "He won a scholarship last semester, and he's not even a senior."

"Yeah, right, duh, Bruce would totally be better." Tony started talking fast, backpedalling, and Steve tried to find a way to get back to the part where there was Tony and tutoring and smiling but words seemed to fail him. "Bruce is great with chemistry and he's more patient than I am anyway. Come to think of it, I think I'm late for a thing, I'll see you guys later."

Then Tony was out the door, gone in a flash. Jane and Bruce each smacked Hank in the arm. He protested, confused and flustered, but Steve just sighed.

That hadn't gone quite as smoothly as he'd been hoping.

Bruce and Hank left to go clean up in the boy's bathroom, while Jane waved at Steve to come sit.

"Oh, I don't, uh." Steve scratched the back of his head. "I don't actually have any questions."

"So you've got a thing for Stark," Johnny observed, spinning the basketball on his finger.

"I—" Shoot. He really needed to stop opening his fat mouth. "No, I just, I remembered what I forgot, so now I think I get it now, maybe—"

"You know he's an omega, right?"

"Johnny!" Sue slapped his shoulder. "That's personal!"

"And I should just let Stark break the poor kid's heart?" Johnny shrugged, looking up at Steve. "No offence, but you don't really seem like a one-nighter guy."

Steve looked around; Thor and Jane were the only ones who seemed surprised. Reed, Sue and Johnny just seemed to be waiting on his reaction.

"I, uh. I'm not." Steve cleared his throat. "And I knew that. The omega part."

"You knew?" Jane gaped at him. "Are you insane? Steve, that's like handing someone your heart and a knife and turning your back!"

"That's not necessarily true—" Steve frowned, and Thor interrupted.

"Jane, darling," Thor warned to her, then turned to Steve, "Steven, though her words are metaphorical, her caution is warranted. If Anthony is an omega, he cannot bond no matter how much you may wish him to. What do you expect to be the results of your pursuit?"

"I don't, I mean…" Steve took a guilty step back without meaning to. He didn't know what he expected. He couldn't explain it, any of it, he just…he had a gut feeling. He'd had it when he first laid eyes on Tony, and it grew stronger every time they spoke. His gut was telling him that it could work, somehow, and Steve had never been a man to ignore his intuition. "I'm not bonded to you, but we're friends, right? Maybe, maybe you don't necessarily need a bond to have a relationship with someone—"

"We're  _friends,_ Steve," Jane insisted, coming around the lab bench to face Steve more directly, "Trying for a romantic relationship without a bond is…well, there's a  _reason_ we bond. You won't be connected to him at all. Why would you want that? There are other guys—"

"I know," Steve answered, exasperated.

"You're coming to the party Thor's throwing for you, right?" Jane squeezed Steve's arm sympathetically. "I make a great wingwoman, if you want."

"But…" Steve searched for something that didn't sound as trivial as 'I want  _him'._ "I think I have work that night."

"James has assured me via text message that you do not." Thor frowned, distraught that Steve might have to miss his party.

Stupid Bucky.

"Guess I was wrong." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "But, really, I'm not a party person, honestly, I'd be no fun—"

"One night, Steve," Jane insisted, taking his hand, "Give me one night. I promise, I can prove to you there are plenty of other fish in the sea that would love to bond with you."

That wasn't it. Steve knew there were other people. He also knew that with his nice little growth spurt, he had plenty of options when it came to the romance department. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that for all the fish in the sea, Steve felt more like he was in a fishbowl, with Tony in another fishbowl next to him. It was like Tony was the only option, yet completely unreachable.

He shook his head. Maybe he ought to go after all, clear his head a little at least.

"I suppose." Steve sighed, knowing that between Bucky's enthusiasm, Thor's puppy dog eyes, and now Jane's determination, he was fighting a hopeless battle anyway. "One night can't hurt."


	4. Chapter 4

This was a bad idea.

People were pouring out of the house, stumbling around waving red solo cups and laughing with their friends. Half the football team was drunkenly—and nakedly—running through a slip 'n slide on the front lawn while music blared at obscene levels. This would probably result in the cops coming to shut down any other party, but Thor lived crazy far out of town, his closest neighbor was miles away, and his parents were in another country for the week; the cops wouldn't hear a whisper of complaint, no matter how much Steve wanted to get out of this.

"Get out of the car or I'm pushing you out," Bucky informed him.

"Bucky—"

"No, I'm still not talking to you until you get laid. God, Steve, I'm starting to think you're a sadist."

"I think you mean masochist."

"No, I mean sadist, because you enjoy making my life hard!" Bucky got out of the car, slamming the door shut.

He'd been pissed ever since Jane and Thor had told him that Tony was an omega, and Steve had known.

It wasn't that Bucky, or any of them, had anything against omegas; his friends weren't like that. They couldn't care less if Tony was an omega. What they did care about was Steve trying to start a relationship with him in spite of that, and he'd sat through enough 'but what's the  _end goal_  here' conversations this week for a lifetime. He knew they were right, he just…wasn't ready to admit it, yet.

When he tried to think about it rationally, he knew there was no future. He knew that trying a relationship with Tony and being unable to bond with him would only hurt them both. He knew that in the end, he'd only be doing Tony a disservice, not to mention himself.

But when he was around Tony, all his rationality flew out the window.

Thor came up to the car with Jane under his arm, and Steve tried to shrink back. Maybe they wouldn't see him, and he could just hide out in the car all night. Bucky bro-fived Thor, but Jane made a beeline for him, manhandling him out of the car and into Thor's waiting arms. Thor hoisted him up, effortlessly hauling him off towards the house.

"I'm pretty sure it's considered kidnapping if my feet aren't touching the ground," Steve grumbled.

"Guess we're kidnapping you." Jane didn't seem fazed by this, striding alongside Thor with a smile.

"Don't return him til he's good and properly laid, got it?" Bucky called after them.

"You're such a pig, Barnes!" Jane shouted back. She patted Steve's arm kindly. "You don't have to have sex, Steve, don't listen to him. We just need to find you someone to get your mind off Tony. And we'll start…with this."

Thor deposited him on the porch—he considered running, but Jane clasped his arm with a smile and  _wow_ did she have a surprisingly vice-like grip—while Sam handed him something into a red solo cup. It was a yellow-brown, amber sort of color, and it frothed a bit. Steve looked at it dubiously.

"Chug it, dude." Sam advised. "You need it."

"What is it?"

"Do not think, my friend." Thor clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Drink."

"That's probably not the best policy—"

"Drink, or I'll let Bucky subject you to another set-up." Jane raised an eyebrow.

Steve grimaced and drank it. This earned a cheer from his friends, but Steve just coughed. That tasted horrible. It was sour and fizzy, and left a bad taste on his tongue.

"That didn't taste good at all."

"Rarely does." Sam snorted. "We don't exactly have access to quality brews here dude."

"Right." Steve made a face. "Can I get some water now?"

"Hell no." Sam laughed. "Don't drink water, you'll sober up."

"I'm not hearing a downside."

"Here." Sam pushed another cup into his hand. "Wash it down with more. Drink enough, the taste stops mattering."

"What's the alcohol content of this anyway?" Steve examined his cup dubiously.

"Fucking hell, you're like a goddamn PSA." Bucky slapped him on the back of the head as he passed, heading inside. "Think of Tony, drink up, and go get your mack on with the nearest brunette. It's not rocket science, Einstein."

Steve paused, peering into the cup. Think of Tony, huh?

Steve thought of Tony. Thought of all the little things he'd noticed, the smiles he'd earned, the brushes of their hands over homework or the way they bumped shoulders sometimes when they walked together. Thought of how fiercely strong Tony could be, even if he channeled most of that energy into being defensive about his status. Thought of his status, thought of what that meant, thought of never, ever being able to bond with Tony.

Steve knocked it back, and held out his cup for more.

The next few hours were nothing more than a loose, warm blur. Steve wasn't sure how many of those cups he drank, or even what was in them, just that every time he looked down his cup was full and the music was loud and the people were crowding him and emptying the cup made it a little more bearable. His stomach began to feel strange. Not bad strange, just…warm. Everything felt warm. Steve's head felt warm. His hands felt warm. He put them on his stomach. Very warm.

He was dimly aware of a couch, and collapsing into it, but he didn't actually remember coming inside the house. There were hands on his shoulders, he thought, but he was relatively sure he could feel his own still on his stomach. How did his hands get on his shoulders?

"Steve?" Drunk and hazy and face down in a couch, and Steve would still recognize that laugh anywhere.

"Tony?" Steve said into the couch cushion when lifting his head didn't seem to be an option. "I'm stuck, Tony."

"I bet you are." There was that laugh again. That was the best sound, Steve thought. He liked that sound. It was a good sound. Steve could live for days off that sound. He should stop eating and sleeping and just spend all his time making Tony laugh.

The hands on his shoulders were pulling him up, and Steve came up for air, dazed and disoriented. It was very dark, in here. Very dark, and very loud. There were people everywhere, Steve thought. Why were there so many people, and why were they tilting? Oh, he was tilting. The hands had stopped pulling him up but Steve was still going, falling to the side until his head hit something.

"Hi Tony." Steve smiled up at the guy whose shoulder he was now resting his head on.

"Hi Steve." Tony seemed to be trying not to laugh, which was ridiculous. Tony should always laugh. "Thanks, I think?"

"For what?"

"You said I should always laugh."

"Oh. I thought that was a head thought."

"Right." Tony laughed again. "How many of these have you had?"

"H'many what?"

"These."

Tony had something red in his hand and he was waving it, but Steve couldn't be bothered to take his eyes off Tony's face. God, he'd drawn that face so many times. He'd filled notebooks with that face. He knew the curve of the eyebrows, the angle of the nose, the freckle just under the chin. He'd never touched Tony's face, but instinct had guided him through every stroke of pencil, and now Steve ached to learn him another way. He yearned to map out the mistakes he'd surely made, discover new curves and angles and blemishes to put to paper.

"Dunno."

"You're not even looking." Tony rolled his eyes.

"Why're you an omega?" Steve lamented.

"Why am I…" Steve felt Tony's shoulder flinch under his head. Drunk and discombobulated, however, he didn't connect that it meant he'd said something wrong. "Well. You're a very honest drunk."

"But why?"

"Biology."

"Tha's not an answer."

"It's not a very answerable question."

"Oh." Steve blinked, the large word hurting his head. "Could you stop bein' an omega?"

"No." Tony's shoulder went rigid.

"Oh." Steve moped, too busy being sad about this news to notice Tony pulling away until Tony was almost off the couch altogether.

"Fuck it, I don't think I'm in a party mood after all—"

"Wait!" Steve reached to grasp Tony's wrist and missed, grabbing his hip.

"Yes?" Tony raised a dangerous eyebrow at him, looking more annoyed than anything else. Steve's hazy mind couldn't piece it together.

"Y'mad at me?"

"Yes." Tony gave a pointed look at his hand. "If you don't mind?"

"I mind." Steve liked his hand there. The jut of Tony's hipbone fit snugly against his palm, like he'd been made to have Steve's hands there. Would the rest of him fit against Steve like this, like puzzle pieces slotting into place? "We should do sex."

Tony stared at him like he'd grown a second head.

"We should…?" Tony seemed to be waiting for Steve to correct him.

"Sex." Steve blurted. "You could…m'mega, right?"

What Steve meant, in this warm, hopeful haze, was something he hadn't even  _considered_  in his right mind. It was too wild, too against the odds to even imagine, but drunk and warm and with Tony's hip slotted into perfect place against him, what Steve meant to say was, "you could be my omega, right? _"_ Steve, too far gone to hold onto caution and in wonder of everything that was Tony, was more than willing to disregard every logical thought said it was near impossible, and instead listen to every instinct he had that was telling him he was right to hope, to try, to want. Every instinct he had was telling him Tony could be his soulmate.

Tony, however, didn't hear "you could be my omega".

Tony, sober and already insulted, heard, "you could, you're an omega". He heard all the times he'd had a one-nighter with some curious alpha or experimental beta just wanting to know what it was like. Heard all the people constantly trying to box him in, trying to figure out what made him different and strange and one of  _those._ All the times he'd heard lines like  _you're an omega, of course you want it_ and  _it's not like you're waiting for someone, you're an omega_ like he ought to be honored they'd want to fuck someone like him at all.

Steve realized none of this.

"You're right. Don't know what I was waiting for anyway." Tony's smile was sharp like a knife, and Steve stood to reach out a hand to touch it, trace the lines. This smile was different, and Steve wanted to draw it over and over until he could figure out what happened to Tony's soft smile. Tony let him, and a faint amusement leaked into his features before he shut it down. "If you're trying to kiss me, you're supposed to use your lips, not your fingers."

"Minute," Steve murmured, still tracing. They were softer than Steve expected, chapped but smooth, a muted pink Steve was sure none of his colored pencils would mirror.

"Okay," Tony murmured back after a beat, his subdued exhale ghosting over Steve's fingers.

They were close, impossibly so, Steve's palm still pressed against Tony's hipbone. Steve realized absently he was mostly leaning into Tony, but Tony wasn't moving away, so Steve continued running his fingers along the corners of Tony's mouth. He was trying to find exactly where Tony's smile turned sharp instead of gentle, but couldn't seem find it. Maybe it was in his eyes. Steve thought he could spend decades cataloguing the little differences in Tony's eyes that changed his expression, and he'd still never quite catch them all. Tony's eyes were too expressive for that, too animated, communicative and impossible to read all at once.

"You're drunk." Tony sighed. "I can't do this—"

"Tony," was all Steve said before he kissed him.

The warmth of alcohol couldn't begin to compare to the warmth that flooded through him at kissing Tony. Steve felt him stiffen, and for a moment he was filled with the horrible, awful certainty that Tony was going to push him away. He melted instead, folding into Steve and reciprocating with enthusiasm and sincerity. Steve let his other hand slot into place on Tony's hip, the curve of his thumb sliding along the groove of bone as he pulled Tony to him. They stumbled backwards onto the couch, but neither of them noticed.

Steve didn't realize he needed air until he was gasping for it, and Tony was laughing at him.

"You are very—" Tony paused in his sentence to chuckle amusedly before running his tongue over Steve's lips, dipping into his mouth, and Steve opened to Tony easily. He'd never kissed like this before in his life, but the alcohol rounded the edges off any nerves. He just wanted more. "—very drunk. You taste like it."

"M'sorry—"

"It's fine." Tony squeezed his arm. "But I'm still not having sex with you while you're drunk."

"But," Steve protested, "You're m'mega."

He could've drunken an entire brewery and it would've been impossible not to catch the full-body flinch Tony gave at that. Tony was up and out of Steve's arms in an instant, and Steve attempted to follow, to fix it. Tony had fit so perfectly against him, Steve felt like he'd lost a body part. He ended up stumbling and almost falling off the couch, but Tony just shoved him back anyway.

"Tony—"

"You're too drunk to consent," Tony spat, "Just because I'm an omega doesn't mean I'm desperate enough to  _rape_ you, Steve, fucking Christ."

Then Tony was gone, and Steve felt more lost and alone than he had in his entire life.

* * *

Everything hurt.

Despite not even being tipsy yet, Tony stumbled out of the living room. He hated Steve. Hated him. Wanted to punch him in his stupid, gorgeous, soul-crushing face. How could Steve  _kiss_ him like that just to get an easy, drunken fuck? Tony'd kissed plenty of people looking for an experiment, and not one of them had ever kissed him like that. Steve kissed like he was trying to pour his soul into it, kissed like he was drawing his dying breath and the last thing he wanted to taste was Tony.

God, he wasn't nearly drunk enough for this.

Tony grabbed every abandoned cup and bottle he could find, tossing them back and hoping the burn of alcohol down his throat could outshine the still-burning place where Steve's hands had pressed into his hips like a brand. Unfortunately, even drunk as hell, Steve managed to find him again. Well, stumble into him, anyway.

"Tony!" Steve exclaimed in giddy surprise, reaching out like he was going to hug him or something.

"Fuck off," Tony shoved his hands away.

"No, I—" Steve shook his head, trying to clear it. He stopped trying to grab Tony, but didn't move out of his way. "Was lookin' for you. 'm sorry, I—whatever I said, I di'nt mean it, honest."

"You're not sorry, you're drunk and alone." Tony tried to shove past him. "Find someone else to piss off."

"I don't wan' anyone else," Steve insisted earnestly, "Wan' you."

It was horribly slurred, and Steve was swaying and grabbing at the wall for balance, but it was still all Tony had wanted for two years. Why did it hurt so badly to hear? Tony could've smacked himself. He needed to stop with the pity party. So it wasn't the  _way_ he'd wanted Steve; it wasn't like he was going to get what he wanted anyway. Why shouldn't he take what he could get?

"Find me when you're sober," Tony said at last, shoving Steve away firmly and walking past him to go find the asshole who'd dragged him here to get his mind off—surprise, surprise—Steve in the first place.

Rhodey was easy enough to find, off in the corner leaning in close and speaking in low tones to a girl Tony didn't recognize.

"Hello, lovely." Tony slid into place next to him, smiling charmingly at the girl he was speaking to. "Mind if I borrow your boy a moment?"

"It's fine, I was going to go dance anyway." The girl smiled easily.

"Funny, so was I." Rhodey discreetly shoved Tony. "Why don't we ignore this buffoon and—"

"Code alpha." Tony told him with a sigh.

"Fuck  _me,"_ Rhodey groaned, turning away from the girl to take Tony by the arm. They'd been to plenty of Thor parties before, everyone had, and they knew which hallway to turn down for a moment of relative quiet. "What? What did he do?"

"He wants to have sex with me."

"Uh." Rhodey froze. "Does code alpha still stand for the same guy?"

"Yes."

" _Casual_ sex?"

"Yes. I need your car keys."

"What? Are you leaving? I'll come with—"

"No, I need to go the store for condoms and lube."

"Why on  _earth—"_

"Look, I wasn't exactly expecting him to proposition me tonight, okay? I mean, sure, wildest dreams and all, but I wasn't  _prepared_ for it, this is all sort of rushed—"

"You don't think that might mean  _it's a bad idea?"_

"Sex with Steve, Rhodey." Tony clasped his shoulders. "Sex. With. Steve."

"Tony—"

"Look, can we do less talking and more moving towards the car? I'm assuming he's trying to sober up right now and this is kind of a now or never deal so I'd like to hop on board the sex-with-Steve train before it leaves—"

"He's  _drunk?"_

"Which is why I'm not sexing him up right now," Tony pointed out, leaving out the fact that Steve had also basically called him an omega slut/rapist and Tony had left in a fit of rage before realizing he should just take what he could get. "Follow along, Rhodeybear. Well, that and I still need supplies."

"You've actually done it. You've actually lost your goddamn mind."

"Look, I'm not gonna get a relationship with him," Tony rationalized, "Why can't I have sex with him? Get him out of my system?"

"If I had a year I couldn't list all the reasons this is a bad idea."

"Look, he made it very…clear." Tony swallowed. "He just wants to know what it's like with an omega. I just want to know what it's like with him. Everyone gets what they want."

"Except you." Rhodey's expression was unreadable. "Always you, Tones."

"It's close enough."

"You shouldn't have to always be settling for that."

"What am I gonna do about it?" Tony made a helpless sort of hand gesture. "Sex is what I've got, Rhodey. It's _all_ I've got."

"That has never and will never be true," Rhodey insisted fiercely, "And if he  _ever_ makes you think that, so help me, I'll set Pepper and Natasha on him, Tony, don't think I won't. And that'll be after Clint and Bruce and I go to town on his punk ass."

"He doesn't, not usually."

"Usually." Rhodey didn't like that.

"I think he's just curious," Tony insisted, "If I…if we do this, maybe he won't be so curious anymore."

"So you're going have sex with him in the hopes that  _then_ he sees you as a person instead of a status?" Rhodey scowled darkly. "Do you hear yourself? This asshole doesn't respect you, Tony, I'm telling you, don't do it."

"You didn't kiss him." Tony shook his head.

"Well yeah, I'd fucking hope not—"

"No, I mean…" Tony resisted the surprisingly strong urge to touch his lips. "He kissed like he wanted  _me."_

There was an unspoken  _no one's ever done that before,_ and the look on Rhodey's face said he heard it loud and clear anyway.

"You're gonna do what you're gonna do, Tony." Rhodey sighed eventually, pulling out his keys and tossing them at Tony. "Just…remember that I got your back, alright?"

"Yeah, I owe you one. Man, the one fucking time I didn't bring anything—"

"I don't mean the condoms, you idiot." Rhodey shoved his shoulder. "I mean you've got people who care about you. A lot of people, okay? Try and remember that."

"I know, Rhodey." Tony slung an arm around his shoulders with a smile, this one a little less forced. "I do. Thanks."

"Yeah, well. If you don't mind, I was a little busy? I actually came prepared, y'know." Rhodey gave a quirked grin, and Tony waved him on with a similar one.

"Yeah, you go do your thing. I'll text you when I get back."

It was nearly two hours by the time Tony drove all the way to the store, got his supplies, and got mildly lost before making it back—Jesus fuck, this Thor guy practically lived on another fucking planet—and Tony was only back in the house a moment before he ran into Steve, entirely by accident. He turned the corner to go up the stairs while Steve turned the corner coming down, and Steve's bulk almost knocked Tony flat off his feet. Steve caught him by the arm.

"I'm sorry, are you—Tony!"

"That's me."

"I was just coming to find you, I'm so sor—"

Tony knew that look. That was Steve's embarrassed, polite, and apologetic looks all rolled into one. Steve was going to say sorry, say he was drunk, that he'd have never said anything otherwise, and they would just part ways and awkwardly attempt to stay friends for a little while before they both got too anxious about the Sex That Never Happened and drifted apart. Tony wasn't ready for that, not without something to hold onto.

"Want to fuck or not?" Tony interrupted.

"—ry." Steve looked like he'd swallowed his tongue. "I. Um. What?"

"Sex. You said you wanted to try it with an omega, well, here you go." Tony held up his arms. "I won't hold it against you or anything, we can still be friends and all that jazz. C'mon, everyone wants at least one go."

"You're not a carousel, Tony." Steve looked unhappy with that, though Tony couldn't quite understand why.

"Okay, sure." He shrugged. "But you know you want to."

"Maybe," Steve hedged, taking a small step back, "But I'm not so sure it's a good id—"

Tony stepped into Steve's space, kissing him with everything he had. He tried to do what Steve had done earlier, tried to pour his soul into it, tried to kiss Steve with even an inch of the emotion he had for him. It occurred to him too late what he might be revealing with a kiss like that, but if Steve realized Tony had feelings for him, he didn't show it.

"Alright." Steve's voice hit an interesting pitch.

"Come on." Tony took Steve's hand and led him upstairs.

Tony found a room easily enough, dragging Steve in and flicking off the lights. He kissed Steve again roughly, licking into Steve's mouth to taste the lingering hint of alcohol and the sharp spearmint that had probably been gum and something too unique to identify as anything but Steve. Steve's hands fell to his hips again, and Tony bucked into his touch. They worked their way back to the bed, and it was Tony who pushed Steve onto it, crawling on top to resume kissing Steve within an inch of his life. It was Steve who paused him with a hand on his arm.

"Do you think…could we turn the lights back on?"

"Why?"

"I want to see—" Steve looked like he was about to say something different, but covered at the last moment. "—what I'm doing. I can't really, um. See."

"You don't really need to see to know what you're doing. Have you not been with a guy before?"

"Well, I haven't exactly..." Even in the dark, Tony was pretty sure he could've seen the blush on Steve's face from outer space as he gave a polite cough. "With anyone."

"You're a  _virgin?"_

"Could you not say it like you're going to sacrifice me to a volcano god?" Steve groaned.

"I just…" Tony sat up, leaning back. Jesus. What the fuck was Steve thinking, giving it up for some experiment? "You're okay with losing it with  _me?"_

"Yeah, Tony," Steve said softly, and now, Tony desperately wished the lights were on. The look on Steve's face was utterly indecipherable in the dark. Tony thought he might've been smiling, but he was probably wrong. "I'm okay. Lights would be nice though."

"Whatever you want." And okay, Tony hadn't meant to say that, but whatever. He rolled off Steve and crossed the room to find the light switch again. Christ, for all the shit luck he'd been dealt in his life…well, at least he had this.

He turned back, the light revealing Steve's flushed cheeks and embarrassed but grateful smile. His hair was already a little mussed, and Tony could remember the feel of it, feather-soft under his fingertips. He was still clothed, but the lean lines of muscle were still visible beneath his shirt, and his jeans clung to him like a second skin.

There was a reason Tony had turned out the lights.

With the lights on, Steve's observing, cautious expressions were inescapable. Tony had spent the past two years of his life wanting this so badly he could taste it, but now that he was here...he wanted it differently. It was selfish and stupid and it shouldn't have mattered but it did, he'd wanted Steve to want him for  _him,_ not for being the only omega available.

Tony shook his head;  _fucking hell, suck it up, Stark._

Even if this was just an experiment, he was going to do everything in his power to make this the best damn experiment of Steve's life.

He descended on Steve again, but drew it out this time. He kissed slowly, languidly, interspersing it with little nips at Steve's lower lip. Steve moaned appreciatively into his mouth, the sound vibrating along his throat. He ground his hips down just a bit, rubbing his growing arousal against Steve's and appreciating the hitch to Steve's breathing, the careful swallow and bob of his Adam's apple.

Without pausing in his lazy kiss, Tony reached a hand between them, pressing the heel of his palm against Steve through his jeans. Steve tipped his head back with a pleased moan, and Tony used the opportunity to suck sharply on the line of Steve's neck.

" _God,_ Tony." Steve inhaled in a rush, like he couldn't get enough air.

Tony just hummed against Steve's throat, earning another moan. He smelled like apples, Tony thought absently, apples and something a bit muskier, cinnamon maybe, and wasn't it just so fitting that the all-american boy scout smelled like apple pie? The food connection didn't do much to lessen Tony's growing hunger of another kind, and he mouthed his way lower, marking Steve as he went.

_Mine mine mine._

He shouldn't have thought of it that way, Steve was far from his, but he couldn't help himself. Steve was so beautiful, so perfect, head tipped back in content submission to Tony's every touch, visible skin already slick with sweat, and giving delicious, throaty moans every time Tony so much as breathed differently against him. Steve licked his lips with a shaky gasp when Tony bit out a mark just under his jaw, and Tony couldn't go another second without tasting him again.

He surged back into Steve, reconnecting their lips and fisting his hands in Steve's shirt, pulling him forward so they were both sitting up, Steve with his legs dangling off the bed, Tony with a knee on either side of Steve's lap. He pushed his hands up and under Steve's shirt, breaking away only long enough to let the fabric get over Steve's head before claiming his mouth again. The pull of it over Steve head ruffled his forever perfect hair, and Tony licked up into Steve's mouth as he moved his hands to Steve's hair, running his fingers through it, messing it up as much as he could. He sat back to admire his work, and caught sight of Steve's gorgeously sculpted muscles instead.

"Mm," Tony's eyes widened appreciatively, his tongue poking out to lick his lips. Steve blushed about ten different shades of red, and Tony was delighted to learn it did in fact travel quite a ways down.

Tony pushed Steve back, mouthing his way from the lines of Steve's neck where were a number of lovely purple hickeys already beginning to blossom, across his clavicle and down the broad expanse of his chest. He took one of Steve's nipples in his mouth and the other in his hand, using the contrasting pressures to tease out a guttural moan from Steve.

"Good?" Tony asked, swirling his tongue.

Steve made a noise that was decidedly not English, but his exuberant nodding was answer enough. Tony lingered, and the nails digging into his skin through his shirt was good indication that Steve didn't mind. While he teased Steve with his tongue and just a hint of teeth, his fingers slid over Steve's stomach, tracing the softer grooves and curves, the muscles lean and less defined as they dipped towards Steve's groin. His fingers caught on the button but he flicked it aside deftly, hooking his thumbs on the hem of Steve's jeans and boxers.

"Wiggle for me, darling."

"Wha…" Steve raised his head like it weighed a hundred pounds, blinking in confusion as if he'd only just realized they were allowed to speak. "Huh?"

"Wiggle," Tony repeated, tugging a bit on Steve's jeans. They didn't budge, which made sense considering Steve was sitting on them.

"Oh," Steve breathed out nervously. He let his head fall back again, apparently just now realizing sex meant taking his pants off. "Oh wow."

"You can still say no," Tony murmured, pressing a kiss to Steve's shoulder, "Anytime. You can always say no."

"Don't want to say no." Steve's voice was soft, a quiet contrast to the party they'd forgotten existed. "Just…wow. Am I allowed a wow?"

"You're allowed a wow." Tony hid his pleased smile against Steve's skin. "Am I allowed to suck you off?"

"Oh wow." Steve's voice went a bit strangled, but Tony kindly didn't comment.

Steve lifted his butt off the bed, gave Tony the leverage to wiggle Steve's pants off his hips and to his ankles. He slid off the back of the bed and onto his knees while Steve sat up a bit, leaning heavily on his hands to keep himself up.

"You're...you're really going to…?" Steve's face was an interesting shade, but more interesting to Tony were his eyes. His pupils were blown black with intense desire and bewildered wonder, the thin rim of blue nothing but a sliver.

Tony swallowed him down without breaking eye contact.

Steve convulsed with a choked, needy sort of sound, and he clenched and unclenched his hands like he was dying to put them elsewhere but wasn't sure if he could. Tony licked a stripe up the underside before pulling away slowly, teasingly, to shoot Steve his most suggestive look.

"You can touch me, you know."

Tony had been mostly joking; he hadn't thought Steve was  _actually_  waiting on some form of permission, but the immediate reaction left no doubt. Steve's hands shot forward, skimming gratefully, reverently, over every exposed inch of skin he could reach. He pressed his hands to Tony's shoulders and neck and cheeks, feeling Tony out before settling into his hair, grip just the right side of strong.

"Were you—?"

"Didn't know if—" Steve seemed to have difficulty catching his breath to answer, and the hand Tony had wrapped around him probably didn't help with that. "If I could."

"What, it's okay for me to get you off, but you can't touch me?" Tony wasn't offended, exactly, but he was sure working up to it.

"I didn't know if you would—"

"I'm not some  _hooker,_  you can kiss me on the mouth and shit without asking."

"God, Tony, I know, I just mean you're—"

"What, you can't touch me cause I'm an omega?" Tony demanded.

"Do you even hear yourself? That's exactly what I mean! I was  _going_ to say you're just so damn  _sensitive_ sometimes _,"_ Steve corrected, letting out something between a growl and a groan as he rubbed his hands over his face, "This is exactly what I was trying to prevent."

"I'm not  _sensitive_ ," Tony sneered the word, "Omega isn't code for being some kind of little bitch, alright?"

"You kissed me within an inch of my life before dragging me off to have sex!" Steve exclaimed, giving a hysterical sort of laugh. "Believe me, I have  _no_ delusions that you are anything even remotely resembling a 'bitch'."

"You propositioned me!"

"I was  _drunk!"_

"So I'm a slut now, that's it?" Tony snarled.

"No! You're just—"

"Look, all being an omega means is that I like it up the ass, and every couple months I get super horny; that's it! None of that means I'm gonna roll over and beg for your dick, okay?"

"That." Steve collapsed back on the bed with a half-sigh half-growl. "Is the absolute  _last_ thing I would  _ever_ expect from you."

"Really?"

"Tony, literally nothing about you gives the impression of someone who begs for…" Steve gave a small cough. "Well, anything."

"I don't?"

"The first time I met you, I had to stop you from beating up an alpha."

"I keep forgetting that."

"Tony?"

"What?"

"I have no compunctions about begging." Though Steve was lying on his back on the bed and Tony was still on the floor, he could see that Steve's face was flushed again. "And I am more than willing to do so if that's what it takes for you to tell me what you want me to say to get your mouth back where it was."

Tony paused.

"I may have gotten a little defensive." Tony didn't wait for Steve's answer before taking him in his mouth again, swirling his tongue and sucking hard.

"Oh  _God,"_ Steve almost shot off the bed altogether, his hands fisting the sheets tightly, "Jesus Mary and Joseph."

"You expecting company?"

"I am begging you to stop talking," Steve moaned, lying back again and throwing an arm over his face.

Tony hummed, letting the vibration of his throat around Steve speak for itself. He tried to remember that it didn't matter what Steve thought, anyway. It was one night. One night that Tony was going to make utterly, mind-blowingly fantastic for Steve, and then he was going to move on. Steve was going to get out of Tony's head, and Tony was going to go back to life the way it was. The easy, ordinary, pining from afar life. Life before he got the stupid idea that he had a chance at something more.

He splayed his hands over Steve's thighs, flexing his fingers over the muscle there. He ran a hand up past Steve's thigh to the curve of his ass, squeezing in encouragement for Steve to move a little. Steve gave a shaky gasp, the movement making his chest expand and contract, the play and ripple of muscle utterly intoxicating to watch. Steve seemed to tentatively take the hint, rocking his hips a bit into Tony's mouth, still achingly careful but settling into a good, steady rhythm.

Tony pulled off with a slick pop before Steve could get too close, and the resulting whine from Steve was the single most satisfying sound Tony had ever heard. He pressed open-mouth kisses along the inside of Steve's thigh while he busied his hands stripping off the rest of Steve's clothes, pulling his pants off from around his ankles. Steve got the idea quickly enough, kicking off his shoes and sitting forward to begin pulling at Tony's shirt.

There were kisses interspersed with the stripping, Steve unwilling to release Tony's lips for even a moment if it could be helped, something that confused Tony but not enough to be stupid and comment and make it stop. Steve's kisses were just as intense as they'd been hours ago, though perhaps not as fearless. There was hesitation there now, Tony could taste it, but he couldn't be sure if it was first time nerves or something omega related, and to be honest, Tony was too far gone in the haze of  _Steve_ and _want_ and  _now_ to draw up the energy to overreact anyway.

He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind as he stripped out of his shoes and jeans, though not before reaching into his pocket for the lube. He glanced at Steve.

"You want to, or should I?"

"What?" Steve's head snapped up. His eyes had been roaming over Tony's exposed skin like he could devour him purely through observation, like he wanted to sink into Tony and never come up for air. He looked cautious now, a deer in headlights, like one wrong word and all his hopes and dreams were going to be yanked out from under him. "What?"

"It's not exactly stick tab A into slot B, y'know." God, Steve had no right to look as gorgeous as he did, all slick skin and labored breathing. "There's a bit of preparation involved."

"Oh." There was that blush, right on cue. "I know that."

"Then do you want to try?" Tony flicked the lid open with a click, and Steve swallowed hard. Tony could see for himself what Steve thought of that idea, the excited twitch of his arousal. "Here."

He tossed the bottle to Steve, who fumbled with it a moment, his blush almost debilitating now, before managing to pour out a decent handful and spread it over his fingers. It was water-based, easy and slick over Steve's fingers, and the sight alone was enough to remind Tony of his so-far woefully neglected libido. But Tony didn't care, didn't care about anything in the world but watching the angles of Steve's long, agile fingers as he rubbed the lube like a damn porn star putting on a show. It took longer than it should've for Tony to begin to wonder what Steve was working it between his hands for.

"What're you doing?"

"I—" Steve dropped his hands to his lap, embarrassed. "It's cold. I thought I'd—I mean, that can't be comfortable for you, if it's cold. Right?"

Tony felt something fragile flicker in his chest, and he clamped it down.

"You were warming it up for me?"

"I swear it didn't sound that weird in my head."

"Whatever, uh. Whatever makes you happy, I guess."

Then Steve was sliding higher on the bed so he no longer hung off the edge, and Tony crawled on top of him. He ripped a packet open with his teeth, tossing the foil off the bed and rolling the rubber over Steve's length. He stayed on his hands and knees as he ducked to kiss Steve, and though he waited for Steve to make some sort of move, to begin, Steve did nothing but kiss him back.

"Anytime you like," Tony eventually murmured against his lips.

"Oh." Steve seemed confused. "Don't you have to…well. Be under me? I am the alpha?"

Only Steve could make that a question. He was confused, but it was a content sort of confusion, his eyes still half-masted with desire, the smile on his face still lingering, hopeful for what was to come. He ran his hand gently along Tony's side, respect in every touch, every kiss, something Tony had failed to anticipate. He knew it wasn't anything about him in particular, knew it was only Steve enjoying his first time like he ought to, but that didn't stop him from falling for it, just a little it.

Okay, maybe a lot.

"You're lucky I'm too turned on—" _And busy being in love with you._  "—to properly take offense to that."

"I…what?" Steve blinked. "I appreciate that, I think? I'm still confused."

"I'm a bottom, not a sub." Tony told him, nipping at Steve's earlobe and earning a pleased stutter, enjoying the warmth of Steve's hitched breath against his cheek. "And I'll ride you til you scream if you'll do us both a favor and work those lovely fingers of yours inside me already."

Tony felt Steve's cock rise with every word to press against his stomach, and he reached between them to wrap his hand around and give a few long, steady strokes, abating Steve's growing problem a little without taking him too far over the edge. Didn't want it to be over too soon, after all.

The first press of Steve's finger was tentative, careful, and Tony rocked into it with an encouraging noise. He kissed Steve as softly and slowly as Steve was being with him. When he figured he'd given Steve enough time to warm up to the concept, he pressed the word  _another_ between their lips, not wanting to bother breaking away for a full instruction. Steve seemed to get the gist anyway, curling another finger inside him with much less hesitation.

Good. Tony moaned into the kiss, sinking down on Steve's already scissoring fingers. It wasn't long before Steve added a third—without even asking, the terrifyingly fast learning bastard—and Tony was well and truly squirming under the exploratory sensation. Steve brushed against something electric, and Tony let out a high-pitched, embarrassingly urgent sort of noise somewhere in the back of his throat. Steve froze, seeming to associate this with something bad. He pulled back from their kiss to look at Tony, worry in his eyes, though Tony couldn't fathom what for.

"That's called a prostate and it's awesome feel free to touch that again anytime at all thanks," Tony gasped out, the words a squeaky, rushed jumble of pleasure and breathlessness.

"I'll remember that."

Worry faded into enthusiastic determination, and Steve coiled his fingers in search of it again. Tony wasn't sure why Steve seemed so keen on finding it, it wasn't like it was some secret omega thing, but then Steve's fingers managed to brush against it again and Tony damn near arched right off Steve's fingers entirely. His whole body jerked in response, and  _son of a bitch_ Steve had no right to pick this up so goddamn fast.

"Fuck me, Steve," Tony demanded, albeit a bit breathlessly, and he watched Steve's pupils blow just a little wider. He hadn't imagined that to be possible.

Steve didn't answer in words, surging up to kiss him instead. His mouth never once left Tony's as his fingers slipped out, and though Tony felt horribly empty for a moment, it was more than worth the first warm, achingly full slide of Steve's cock inside him. Steve kept murmuring something against his lips, something that might've been  _Tony_ or _mine_ or both and under any other circumstances Tony would've protested the latter, but he would've had to have been superhuman to feel anything but lust and a deep hunger curling low in his belly, burning away as he sank down on Steve, took him to the hilt.

Steve's head dropped back at that, and he gave a choked shout as breath escaped him. There was a slow burn building with each cant of Tony's hips against Steve's, and Steve's hands scrambled for something, the sheets unsatisfactory; he grabbed Tony's hands, lacing their fingers together and clinging like he couldn't imagine ever letting go, their lips still sliding together with every rock of Tony's hips.

It was, admittedly, a little awkward. There were the sounds, the slick of lube and harsh slapping of skin, and the way one of them would try to rut up when they should rut down and vice versa, inexperienced in both sex and each other. The angle was a bit off, the rhythm uneven, and of course there was the fact that they both were very aware that they were just two fumbling teenagers experimenting in a back room, barely even friends, one of them even a virgin. It was awkward and weird and it shouldn't have been good.

It was fantastic.

Tony came first. It slammed into him unexpectedly between one breath and the next, a burst of color and sensation that left him gasping for air and Steve with a pool of thick white liquid on his stomach. Steve wasn't far behind, a few pants, a few thrusts, and for a moment Tony thought that was it; Steve tensed up, gasped into Tony's mouth, and he could feel Steve swell inside him.

But Tony had felt the swell of arousal before, and it had never felt like that. Not in the cheesy, romantic sense that  _he'd never had anyone like Steve before_ , and more of the foreboding sense of  _oh god please no_. Tony pulled back. Though Steve chased his lips, when Tony did disentangle himself Steve just looked up at him blissfully, the smile on his face soft and damn near reverent.

Tony, already panicking about what had just happened, didn't notice.

"Steve?"

"Yeah, Tony?" Steve rubbed a thumb against the back of his hand, their fingers still laced together.

"What the fuck is your dick doing?"


	5. Chapter 5

Steve had never felt so bonelessly, blissfully content in his entire life.

He'd had dreams before, plenty of them even with Tony, but none of them compared to the reality. None of them had been able to capture the way Tony felt, lithe and smooth and small enough to tuck against his chest but large enough to be solid, to give weight to Steve's thrusts, to take him without fragility. None of them had been able to mimic the melting of his heart when Tony looked at him a certain way, when Steve forgot about one-time fucks and bonds and omegas and could just have  _Tony,_ here and now and all to himself.

None of them had involved Tony on top, either, but like all the rest of it, it was better, it was so much better, it was nothing Steve could've ever dreamed and completely perfect for it.

Tony came first and Steve kissed him through it, swallowing his low, throaty moan, imagining for a moment he could somehow taste that Tony was happy. If anything, it was Tony, body slick with sweat and slotted against him like a puzzle piece, lips cherry red and swollen from kissing and from sucking him off earlier, eyes looking down at him like Steve was the only person in his world, that pushed Steve right over the edge he'd been so desperately clinging to.

He arched off the bed, gasping into Tony's mouth. Tony's kiss softened and his hands tightened, both motions of comfort as Steve's finishing knocked the breath out of him. Tony moved to pull back, though Steve didn't want him to; he chased Tony's lips, but Tony seemed insistent on saying something.

"Steve?"

He reminded himself no matter how perfect his name sounded on Tony's lips, it was not an invitation to say he loved him.

He settled for, "Yeah, Tony?"

"What the fuck is your dick doing?"

Steve didn't really get it, for a minute. All the answers that came to mind seemed unlikely to be what Tony was looking for.

"Feeling really great?" he blinked eventually.

"No, I mean—" Tony moved back a little more, tried to ease himself off of Steve. Arousal slammed into Steve's stomach hard, and he made a choked, gasping sort of sound.

"Please stop moving," Steve squeaked.

"Then please  _get out,"_ Tony demanded, though there was a note of panic to his voice Steve hadn't expected.

Was it rude to not pull out immediately? He didn't know, it was his first time, Tony knew that, why was he yelling?

He tried to pull back, though every fiber of his being screamed at him not to. It didn't hurt, exactly, was more along the lines of a pleasure that bordered on discomfort, but if Tony wanted him to of course he would. Well, he would try.

"I, uh." Steve froze. Oh god, he must be the only guy stupid enough on the planet not to be able to figure this out. Wasn't this supposed to be instinct? Instinct was good, instinct had worked great for the past what felt like years he'd just been in bed with Tony but now all of sudden that it had to stop, his instinct was freezing up? Swell. God, he was going to have to actually say it, Tony was going to think he was such an idiot. He eventually blurted out, "IthinkI'mstuck."

" _Stuck?"_ Tony shrieked. And really, okay, that wasn't fair, it was his first time, he was  _trying_ damn it, and everything just felt so good and Tony had been so wonderful, why couldn't he just be patient with Steve for ten more seconds here? He'd been so helpful before— "You—you  _can't_ be stuck!"

" _You_ pull off then." Steve threw his hands up in surrender. Maybe it was the angle?

"What do you think I'm trying to do? Stop fucking  _knotting_ you asshole, I can't—!"

"Stop…stop  _what?"_ The word was like a punch to the chest.

"Knotting! You know, that thing you're doing with your dick? Didn't you take a damn health class like the rest of us?" Tony snapped, still trying to squirm his way off of Steve.

His words flew right over Steve's head in light of Tony's merciless writhing and the things it was doing to his libido.  _God_ no wonder he was still so hard, he was knotted, Jesus—Steve tried to remember the implications of that, but couldn't manage the brainpower.

"—and I really don't think—damn it, Steve, are you even listening to me right now?"

"If you want me to listen then you need to  _stop moving,"_ Steve hissed helplessly.

"I'm trying to get off your fucking dick, maybe you could, I don't know,  _help?"_

"Tony, do you really think I—?"

"Trust me, whatever the fuck you're doing, it is  _not_  normal operating procedure!"

"That's not exactly helpful—"

" _Yes,_ Steve, you're fucking knotting, okay, now can you  _stop?"_

"I don't even know how I started!"

But wait. If he was, was  _knotting,_ then…they were bonded. Had to be. He may not recognize the feeling of it but he knew what it meant, had taken health class and read books and knew that if he was knotting then they were bonded and Tony was his mate and since Tony was an omega that meant Tony was his—

"Would you just make it stop before we fucking bond?" There was a panic in Tony's voice Steve couldn't understand, like this was the worst possible scenario Tony could imagine, and God how it hurt.

Steve tried to pretend it didn't, tried to bury it as deep as he could, but he was laid too bare at the moment to ignore the ache in his chest where his short-lived hope burnt out. Where he'd thought, for a flash of a moment, that maybe this meant he could have Tony after all. That maybe Tony loved him too, or could learn to. God, he was completely naked, spread flat on his back, and buried hilt deep inside the guy he'd been in love with for going on two years; he'd never  _been_ more raw.

He'd known this would hurt. He'd been prepared for it to hurt. He'd known, when Tony had come up to him, arms open, wide grin in place, and asked if Steve wanted to  _take a spin,_ like he was a carousel or a new car, that this was going to end with Tony leaving and Steve loving him no less than when he'd walked into this stupid party. More, if it was even possible at this point.

He knew what Tony wanted. He'd watched Tony all through high school, saw him pick up pretty alpha girls and cute beta boys and everything in between, anything that piqued his interest for more than a minute. Steve had finally piqued his interest for a moment, and though it was just the one night, Steve had grabbed at the chance to have  _something,_ no matter how fleeting.

"Tony, I…if I'm knotting at all, I think we're already—"

"Oh fuck, we are, aren't we? Oh fuck, oh fucking fuck, what did I do, what did  _you_ do—"

"Not exactly flattering me here." Tony's words were salt on an open wound, and Steve tried to swallow it down but every time Tony opened his mouth it just got worse.

"How do I even  _have_ a bondmate already, much less  _you?_ Jesus fucking Christ, all the assholes I've been fucked by and of course it's  _you—"_

"I get it!" Steve shouted, "You hate me, message received, do you wanna maybe shut up about it for a Goddamn minute?"

Tony paused.

"I don't think I've ever heard you swear before."

"Well I fucking swear, okay?" Steve snapped, "It tends to happen when one-nighter jerks act like being bonded to me is the worst thing that ever happened to them!"

"Oh, nice, now we're back to calling me a slut again,  _here_ we go—"

"I did  _not_  call you a slut! What you choose to do with your body is your choice and you can call it whatever you like but you are  _one-nighter,_ Stark, you've made that  _perfectly_ clear—"

"I didn't hear you complaining about it a minute ago!"

"We weren't  _bonded_ a minute ago!"

"We are  _not_ bonded!" The ferocity of Tony's voice was alarming. "You are  _not_ my alpha, you fucking hear me? I am  _no one's_ bitch and I don't give a _damn_ what your dick has to say about it, my body is  _mine!"_

Any response Steve might've mustered was knocked out from under him when Tony tried to yank himself away. The resulting tug on Steve's cock was simultaneously arousing and horribly painful, and Steve gave a startled shout as they tumbled to the side, their, well,  _everything_ tangling.

Steve accidentally rolled on top for all of a split second before Tony spat at him, "Big boy's an alpha for all of a minute and you're already trying to fucking  _mount_ me—"

" _You_ pushed  _me,_ I just rolled—!"

"Right on top of me, yeah, real fucking smooth—" Tony shoved his shoulder, hooking a leg around Steve's waist to roll him onto his back again, firmly reasserting himself.

"My God, Tony, the  _last_ thing I care about right now is who's—"

"Yeah, I get it, you want me off your dick already, well I'm  _trying_ here but I'm not exactly having much success considering the ten to fifteen minute waiting period your dick has decided to impose on us—"

"You say that like it's  _my_ fault—"

"It  _is_ your fault! Believe me, I had no plans to be bonded to  _you_ , Rogers! The last thing I want is to hear your nagging, judgmental, fucking  _conservative_  voice in my head all the time!"

"How many times do I have to tell you I'm not some conservative! Would a conservative  _sleep_ with you?"

"I'm sorry, an  _experimental_ conservative," Tony sneered, "Call yourself whatever you want, I see how you look at me Rogers, I'm not your fucking omega playtoy no matter what your dick tells you—"

"I've never looked at you like a, a playtoy, you treat  _yourself_ like—"

"Ohmigod!"

The door opened, only to immediately slam shut. It was a girl's voice, but the high pitch she hit made it impossible to tell who. Steve tried to sit up and get a look over Tony's shoulder, but Tony tried to turn at the same moment and they ended up rolling right off the edge of the bed.

There might've still been a twitch of arousal at the movement, but any spark of that was flooded by the absolutely incredible amount of pain. Steve landed on top of Tony again, and, crammed between the bed and the wall, they had nowhere else to roll. Unless Tony was far more acrobatic than he let on, they weren't going anywhere, and for a long moment Steve just looked at Tony.

Before Tony even opened his mouth, Steve knew it was going to be bad. Knew that Tony hated being underneath someone, hated anything that lasted more than a night, now even hated Steve for bonding with him; nothing he was about to say could be good. He braced himself, but it was pointless. Tony always knew exactly what to say to punch through any attempt Steve made to put a barricade between Tony and his heart.

"This," Tony snarled, fire in his eyes, ice in his voice, "Is  _never_ happening again."

Steve was by far the larger of the two. He had wide shoulders, more musculature, and the way he was hunched over the smaller, more lithe Tony could've almost been comical. He was the alpha, the football player, and now he was even on top.

He'd never felt smaller in his life.

He had no witty response. He wasn't even sure if he had the air to breathe. Tony's words cut to the bone, cut into something new and fragile nestled close to Steve's chest, and it  _ached._

"Ow," Tony said in bewilderment, more surprise than pain, rubbing at his chest, "What the fuck?"

Steve decided he should probably let Tony think it was a weird muscle cramp, not their newfound bond letting Tony know how heartbroken Steve was.

"Fine by me." The words were quiet and firm. Complete lies, but. Firm ones. "I don't want an omega anyway. Once I can pull out, I'll go."

"You have spunk on your chest." Tony commented dryly, but Steve was nowhere near in the mood for anything even bordering humor.

"I would walk through that party naked and covered head to toe in sperm if it meant getting away from you right now."

The words were painfully true; he couldn't take any more of this. Couldn't take any more jabs or sneers, couldn't handle the  _panic_ in Tony's eyes like spending more time with Steve was somehow terrifying to him. He'd been handed the solid slap of rejection, and while he was old enough to take it, he'd give anything to do so alone instead of here, still inside him, still  _bonded_ to him, forced to listen to Tony rephrase his rejection another hundred ways.

Tony never replied.

They spent the remainder of the countdown on the floor, avoiding eye contact and touching each other as little as possible. Neither of them said a word after that until Steve was able to remove himself. Tony was the first out the door; he didn't even put on his clothes, just grabbed them and practically vaulted out of the room buck naked.

Steve was going to follow suit, but then everything hit him at once, and he couldn't bring himself to do anything but collapse back on the bed. He closed his eyes, the light suddenly harshly, cruelly bright. In the dark privacy behind his eyelids, he let himself go back in time. He could still smell Tony's earthy musk like it was infused in his skin, still feel the calloused catch of Tony's fingers in his, still remember how every dip and curve of Tony's body had fit against his own.

Most of all, Steve remembered the bone-deep happiness he'd naively thought would never leave him.

Steve rolled over, curling into the covers. Miserable as he was, infinitely worse was the strong, steady hum in his chest that burned of Tony. They were bonded, it was impossible to deny, they'd had sex and knotted and now Steve could  _feel_ him in his chest and somehow, Tony still didn't want him.

Somehow, his own soulmate didn't want him.

* * *

Tony stumbled out of the room and down the hallway. Someone laughed at him, probably because he was naked, but he couldn't have given less of a fuck if he'd tried. He was too busy in his own head, too shaky and hurt and completely,  _utterly_ terrified.

Bonded.

Much as the idea had fascinated him, the reality was horrifying. When Steve figured out how to work it, how to delve into the bond, he was going to be able to read Tony. He was going to, to  _learn_ things Tony didn't ever want anyone learning, was going to feel Tony's emotions and get a sense of his thoughts and even track him down if he wanted to.

And god, what if Steve decided he wasn't satisfied? What if he changed his mind, decided he wanted Tony after all, but that he wanted to dominate instead? He'd already tried to roll Tony over twice. What if he— _fuck_ Tony couldn't think about that. Tony had some muscle on him and could put up a hell of a fight, but Steve was bigger, stronger, could probably lift Tony clear off the ground if he wanted to. And what would Tony be able to do about it? Nothing. He had no power, no control, and it  _terrified_ him.

His entire life had been a fight for control, and he'd just lost.

Everything from projects to decisions to responsibilities, people were always trying to step in and take over for him. It wasn't always meant to insult, and to be honest, that made it worse; people's first thought when hearing an omega had something to do was to handle it for them, and Tony loathed it.

_You're an omega, you don't want to handle this on your own. Don't worry, I'll take care of it for you._

So yeah, he got defensive. He snapped. He fought every inch of the way, fought everyone who tried to take even a sliver of his hard-won control from him. He fought and he fought and fought, and now it didn't matter. Now, he didn't even have control over his fucking  _body,_ no, that belonged to some goddamn experimenting asshole who wanted nothing more than a spin on the fucking omega merry-go-round.

No matter that Tony was still achingly, desperately in love with him. No matter that Steve was going to find that out eventually and laugh so hard he'd sprain something. No matter that after everything, even after finding out they were supposed to be soulmates, Steve still couldn't get past the fact that he was an omega.

_I don't want an omega anyway._

Or maybe he didn't care that Tony was an omega; maybe he just didn't want Tony.

_I would walk through that party naked and covered head to toe in sperm if it meant getting away from you right now._

It was him. It had to be. He was so fucked up, so damaged and pathetic that his own soulmate didn't even want him.

Tony laughed, the sound gritty and a touch hysterical. His head hurt and his eyes stung and the world spun in a blurry, dull haze as he stumbled down the hall. He pressed the palms of his hands to his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to stop the burn.

Fuck bonding. Fuck Steve. Fuck everything. Tony passed by a drunken idiot and snatched his cup away, ignoring whatever protest the guy gave to slam it back. He did this to everyone he saw, stealing cups and bottles and everything he could get his hands on and it was a dick party move but he didn't care, didn't care about anything but getting so completely wasted that he wouldn't even remember Steve's name in the morning.

He needed to get the sound of Steve's blissful moans out of his head, needed to forget the slow, soft slide of his lips, needed to unsee the look in his eyes. He had no idea how long his quest for booze went on, just that it was long enough for time to become nothing more than a slippery, evasive concept for people who hadn't just had their heart ripped out of their chest and spat on, but not even close to long enough to get Steve out of his head.

But then, he'd likely drink himself to death long before he got his  _fucking soulmate_ out of his head.

He made it back into his jeans at some point, but he was pretty sure he hadn't put his boxers back on first. He might've exchanged them, actually, along with pretty much everything else he had on him, for more booze. Worth it. Tony knocked back something clear, the taste sharp and cool and the best thing he'd tasted all night.

Except Steve.

Three long pulls, and the bottle was empty. Tony launched himself off the wall in search of something stronger. Time blurred even more, and the next thing Tony knew, he was jumping into the river behind Thor's house. The guys with him cheered, and for a brief moment, Tony wondered what it'd be like to let the river carry him away from all his problems.

Then a hand grabbed him by the shirt—shirt? When had he put a shirt on? Not to mention this shirt was blue, hadn't his been green?—and hauled him out.

"Hey." They clapped a hand on his back. "There ya go, cough it up."

Was he coughing? He was. He must've swallowed some of the water. He knelt in the muddy grass, and coughed until he puked.

"Oh, fuck. Well, okay, hey, you missed me, that's great. Good job on that one—"

He felt empty and miserable but for a small spark in his chest, and all he wanted was to follow that spark until it led him back into Steve's arms. But Steve wouldn't be waiting with open arms, would he? Steve had gotten his ride. Steve would be long gone, Tony's heart with him.  _Fuck._  He wanted Steve but not his conservative omega stereotypes, wanted a soulmate but not some alpha trying to dominate, and he didn't know how to separate it all, or even if he could.

"Hey, no, don't cry, fuck, I'm sorry, look—" Someone patted Tony on the back. "—whatever it is, I'm sure it won't be so bad in the morning, right?"

No, it was going to be so much worse.

The hand on his back disappeared, and for a moment Tony thought he'd finally be left to just curl up and die in peace.

"Hey beautiful, I—no, hey, sorry, Jesus, I'm not calling to interrupt your hunt for your friend, I swear, I called to say I actually kind of accidentally found the guy." Another pause. "Yeah, trust me, it's him, I know who he is, I've got this friend who—whatever, long story. Look, you might want to get out here, I came out for a cigarette and saw him jump in the river with some other idiots. I hauled him out before he got frostbite, but he…well, he's having like a breakdown here, and I don't really know what to do with that." More pausing. "Out by the river. Yeah, see you in a minute."

Then the guy was touching Tony's shoulder again.

"Hey, I called a friend of yours, she's gonna come get you, alright?"

Tony didn't respond. It didn't matter. Soon enough he had three different people screaming at him and hauling him up and dragging him off to the car. He let it wash over him.

"Fucking Christ, you utter idiot, you complete and utter fucking idiot, I swear to god I'm going to kill you, I'm going to kill you dead and bury the body and raise you back up just to  _kill_ you if you ever do something so  _monumentally_  stupid ever again—"

Rhodey, Tony thought.

"Was alright," Tony slurred, and it was true. He may have wanted to float away, but he hadn't been going to. It was more of a creek than a  _river,_ anyway. Deep enough to swim in, calm enough that it could barely carry off a leaf.

"You're drunk off your goddamn ass, Stark!" That was Clint. "You could've passed out and  _drowned_ if it weren't for Barnes!"

"I didn't really—" The guy from earlier.

"You did." Natasha. "Thank you."

"Does that mean you'll call me?"

"It means I might pick up if you call again."

Then she had an arm under Tony's while Clint took the other and Rhodey tried to find his keys while reading Tony the riot act.

"You scared the fuck out of us, you fucking asshole. We were supposed to meet at one, that was hours ago!"

"But'm n'drunk 'nuff," Tony tried to slip away, but their grip on him was tight enough to be painful.

"You jumped in a river in the middle of the night, you're plenty drunk." Clint.

Had that happened? Tony couldn't remember. What he could remember was the way Steve smelled, apples and cinnamon and so  _Steve_ it hurt. But then, everything hurt.

"N'drunk 'nuff," Tony repeated.

"Not drunk enough for what, death?" Rhodey.

"Steve," Tony mumbled, "Still 'member."

"Oh, Tony." Natasha. There was a soft, worried sigh, but thankfully no more talking, at least none directed at him.

Tony wasn't sure when he got in a car, just that he did. He didn't know where he ended up, either, just that the car ride was nothing but a bumpy haze and the bed someone was pouring him into was a soft haze and the last thing he thought of before he closed his eyes was that Steve's fingers had linked with his like they'd been made just for Tony to hold onto.

* * *

"You  _dog!"_

Someone landed on Steve's stomach, and he woke with a startled yelp. God, everything hurt. He tried to roll over with a pitiful groan, pull the pillow over his head and block out the world, but whoever had just landed on him snatched the pillow away.

"Come on, spill! How was it?  _Who_ was it? Do you know them? Do I know them?"

The babbling questions continued, but Steve ignored them. Bucky. God. Bucky was going to  _murder_ him. Rightfully so. Bucky had only told him a hundred times what a bad idea Tony was in the past week, and he hadn't listened. He'd ignored literally every one of his friends and had a one night stand with the king of one night stands, and in spite of bonding to him against the overwhelming odds, he'd  _still_ woken up alone.

Well.

Alone would probably have been better than this, actually.

"How do you even know?" Steve complained.

"Your clothes are all over the place and there's a used condom on the floor, do I looklike I was born yesterday?"

"Oh God," Steve groaned into his pillow, " _Please_ shut up."

"Wait a minute." Bucky froze, before crawling on top of Steve and burying his nose in Steve's neck.

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?" Steve shoved him off the bed, but Bucky just leapt back up, pointing an accusatory finger.

"You  _bonded?"_

"I—shoot." He'd forgotten about that.

" _You bonded with your one-nighter?"_

"I didn't  _mean_ to—"

"Damn it, Steve, this was just supposed to get you over Tony! Did it even work?"

"You have no idea how badly that backfired," Steve admitted miserably.

"So you're still in love with him."

"I wouldn't say that—" Probably  _more_  in love with him than ever before, actually, but that was unhelpful and nothing he would admit to out loud.

"Whatever, you're still into the guy?"

Steve made a grunting noise of assent into his pillow.

"Does your bondmate know?"

"No."

 _Yet._ Steve's traitorous mind reminded him. Soon enough, Tony was going to figure out how to poke around in Steve's side of the bond, and figure out that last night had nothing to do with curiosity. Soon enough, Tony was going to figure out how pathetically hard Steve had fallen for him, and was going to laugh at Steve until his face turned blue.

"Dude, you've gotta break it off with them. That's a dick move."

"I don't even know  _how_ we bonded, much less how to break it." Steve sat up, scrubbing a hand over his face. Could soulbonds even be broken?

"Sometimes it happens when you have sex and you get too into it, it's happened to me before, don't stress about it." Bucky patted him on the shoulder. "Almost  _always_ happens the first time. Just find the guy, tell him you're sorry, you're not over your ex. If you both want the bond broken, it'll break. It's easy."

Well, that might be a problem, considering there was most assuredly a very large part of Steve that didn't want it broken. A horrible, selfish part of him that liked having Tony tied to him. That hoped maybe, if they were stuck together long enough, Tony could still learn to love him back.

"I'll, uh. Get right on that."

"Now c'mon, we've been looking all over for you. We're going out to breakfast while the maids clean the place."

"Thor's making someone else do it?" Steve frowned. The house had been horribly trashed, that didn't seem very fair.

"Paying them an obscene amount of money, more like." Bucky snorted. "Don't worry about it. It's Thor, he's not gonna rob them. Now c'mon, you need pancakes, and I need to hear the story of how my best bro finally got laid."

"Not much of a story, really." Lie.

"Really?"

"Really. Pretty typical." Lie.

"Define typical."

"You know, nothing that special, or anything, just…normal." Lie.

Lies, all total and complete lies, it had been sweet and special and wonderful, had been the single most perfect thing Steve had ever experienced in his life right up until the second he'd ruined it. But he was selfish, and telling anyone else about it felt like giving away something he wanted to hoard every little piece of for himself.

"Normal." Bucky's eyes narrowed. "That's all you have to say about it?"

"Yep. Hand me my pants?"

"Was it at least good?" Bucky demanded.

Steve could vividly remember the feeling of completely losing his mind when Tony had first slid down onto him. He was pretty sure he still hadn't found it.

"It was alright." He should enter a lying competition. He'd win first place.

"Guess it does take some practice to get any good." Bucky seemed to accept this, passing him the rest of his clothes.

Steve changed quickly—he'd known Bucky since they were seven, nudity wasn't of any concern—and they headed out to meet up with the others downstairs. They were just as interested in Steve's late night adventures, and he stayed just as vague. It was alright, it was fine, it was pretty much what he'd expected—and oh, that was the biggest lie of them all. Even without the bonding,  _nothing_ about last night had been  _anything_ Steve could've expected.

Most of it had just blown above and beyond any expectations Steve had, but other things had come completely out of left field. Most notably, Steve could've never predicted how good of an actor Tony was. Before everything had come crashing down around him, when he'd still been caught up in the thick of it…Steve would've sworn he'd seen the world promised in Tony's eyes.

Tony had looked at him like Steve was everything he'd ever dreamed of, and for a few moments he would never be able to completely forget, Steve had believed him.


	6. Chapter 6

"Come on, just tell us the guy's name." Sam speared a slice of ham off Steve's plate.

It was Steve's third, and usually he'd just let Sam steal it. Steve was no stranger to the afterparty ritual, even if this was the first time he'd attended the actual party beforehand. They always went out for Denny's, and usually he got to tease Sam and Bucky about being hungover, laugh with Jane about whatever poor girl Bucky had slept with, and get into—well, lose—eating competitions with Thor.

Today he got to nurse his own hangover, and be the laughed at instead of the laugher. It was a horrible turnaround made no better by the fact that his train of thought went something along the lines of  _Tony Tony food Tony Tony shut up brain just eat more food Tony Tony._ He wasn't in the best place at the moment, but at least he was winning the eating competition for once. He swiped the slice of ham back, battling off Sam's fork when he tried again.

"Steve, I know you like to eat your feelings and all, but maybe you want to slow down a little?" Bucky eyed him.

"Shaddup, Buck," Steve grumbled through a mouthful of ham, "And that's personal, Sam, I told you. I don't think he wants anyone to know."

"Yeah, it'd sure be a pity if anyone knew he got banged by the hottest junior on campus." Bucky rolled his eyes. "No offence to Sam and Thor, but Thor's taken and you hit  _paydirt_ with the growth spurt dude. He's not gonna be embarrassed of you, seriously."

"I'm telling you he will." Steve made a frustrated noise, slicing up his pancakes more aggressively than was perhaps necessary. "Just drop it, okay?"

"Alright, alright." Bucky threw his hands up in surrender, eyeing Steve's knifework. "Sex is supposed to mellow you out, dude; you're cutting your pancakes like psychos cut up bodies. I'm getting the vibe that something went wrong somewhere."

"I'm being grilled about my sex life at a Denny's, that what went wrong." Steve snorted, stabbing a bite of pancake.

"Steve, you're going to explode if you eat any more food." Jane laughed.

"Am not." Steve frowned somewhat petulantly, taking a pointed bite.

"Let the man feast!" Thor declared exuberantly, "He has more than earned it, has he not? Besides, I believe we have grilled Steven plenty; it is James who has not shared enough details. Was it not Natasha Romanov you disappeared with last night, or am I mistaken?"

"To be honest, I'm pretty sure if I say a word about last night, she'll neuter me," Bucky admitted, but he had an eager, twitchy sort of look that told them he was totally going to anyway.

"So it was good." Sam grinned.

"It was  _fantastic."_ Bucky slumped back in the booth with a dazed sort of smile. "Man, you haven't  _lived_ til you've had double-alpha sex."

"Natasha Romanov…" Sam shook his head. "She's that yearbook chick, isn't she? Dude, that girl is terrifying. You're lucky you're still alive if you propositioned her like you usually do."

"It was definitely a near-death experience. Sex included." Bucky laughed.

"You oughta be a little more respectful of her, Buck." Steve shot Bucky a look before taking a drink.

"Hey, just cause  _your_ sex was boring doesn't mean—"

Steve accidentally inhaled his orange juice.  _Boring._ Like anything with Tony was ever  _boring._ He had, however, just told his friends that, and they were now staring at him like they'd just stumbled across an endangered species.

"Steve." Bucky's eyes narrowed. "Is there something you'd like to share with the class?"

"Um, no." Steve shoveled the rest of his pancakes into his mouth as fast as he could, pointedly looking down at his plate. "M'chewing, can't talk."

Thor slapped Steve on the back. He swallowed his food with a choked cough.

"Ow," he complained.

"Talk," Jane demanded.

"I just, uh, you know. It was still. Sex. I mean, it wasn't  _boring—"_

"I'm pretty sure that's the exact word you used." Jane eyed him.

"Repeatedly." Sam frowned.

"Did I?" Steve's voice hit an interesting pitch. Damn puberty.

"Steve." Jane pinned him with a look that damn near made Steve confess on the spot. Luckily, Bucky never did learn when to keep his mouth shut.

"Wait." Bucky's eyes widened. "Did you get double-alpha sex too?  _Your first time?"_

"Dude, what the fuck?" Sam complained.

"That's so not fair! You dog, why didn't you say anything?"

"Oh my god, you let him top, didn't you?"

Steve flushed bright red against his will. Not  _top_ top, but he supposed in a manner of speaking…Tony's wickedly promising smile flashed through Steve's mind.

_I'm a bottom, not a sub, and I'll ride you til you scream if you'll do us both a favor and work those lovely fingers of yours inside me already—_

"Son of a bitch, Rogers!" Bucky threw down his fork. "How could that not be the first damn thing out of your mouth?"

"Stop making a scene, Bucky, we're in a restaurant," Jane hissed, slapping his shoulder.

"Look at him blush! The bastard got double-alpha!"

Or he was embarrassed that he was hard under the table from thinking of the way his fingers had felt inside Tony, or the achingly beautiful look on Tony's face when he brushed against that one particular spot—

"So did you, James," Thor reminded Bucky, "There is no need for such volumes."

"You  _know_ you're too loud when Thor tells you to quiet down." Sam snorted at Bucky.

"I am  _betrayed,"_ Bucky hissed at Steve, "Why would you not tell me about this? Your first time and you got some kinky little bastard to double with you—"

"That!" Steve came out of his daydream-memory with a snap. " _That_ is exactly why I didn't tell you. Because you'll laugh about it and make dirty comments and turn it all into some big, stupid joke like you always do."

"Steve—"

"Bucky, I'm warning you." Steve felt more than decided to bare his teeth. " _Drop it."_

Silence fell. Steve's words had been lower and fiercer than he'd anticipated, and the alpha pheromones he'd let off settled around the table.

"Forget it, I should just go—" Steve stood abruptly, fishing into his wallet for a couple bills to pay his share.

"No." Thor took his elbow firmly and reseated him. "You should not. What one does behind closed doors is one's own business. James will desist, and you will tell me of how you think we will fare against Sword High in next Friday's game."

The conversation was stilted at first, everyone stepping carefully around what had just happened, but they fell into comfortable conversation soon enough with the exception of Bucky, who didn't make eye contact with Steve for the rest of the meal. When they finished, Bucky gave Sam and Steve rides home while Thor escorted Jane. Sam was dropped off first, and the ride to Steve's house was quiet until Steve started to get out of the car.

"Hey, listen." Bucky stopped him, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "I'm a dick. You know I am. If you don't want to talk about it at all, I'll let it go. But if it…if there's something going on, and you want to talk but you just need me to not joke about it? I can shut my yap, honest."

"I know, Buck." Steve sighed, any anger he still had about Bucky's teasing melting away. "I do. It's just…really, really complicated."

"This guy you're bonded to…you actually like him, huh?"

"Yeah." Steve bit his lip. "Yeah, I do."

"Look…" Bucky looked contemplative, like he was debating whether or not to say something. "It's not the worst thing in the world to like someone other than Tony, you know? If that's what you're stressed about. I mean, really, I saw him last night, and he's…he's one hell of hot mess, Steve."

"Last night?" Bucky had Steve's immediate attention. "When last night, before or after midnight?"

"After. Way after. He was...I mean, I know I tell you to loosen up, but he was  _gone._ He practically got himself killed jumping in the river on some stupid dare."

"What?" Bucky's words were a punch in the gut, and it took everything Steve had just to remember to breathe. "Is he alright?"

"I don't know, probably? I called his friend, she came to pick him up—"

"His friend, do you still have their number?" Steve demanded, already pulling out his phone. They'd had sex and accidentally bonded and Tony had almost  _died—_ he couldn't just wait around until Monday to talk to him. He needed to talk to Tony today, as soon as possible, needed to know he was okay—

"Yeah, wh—aw, Steve, no—"

"I need to know he's okay—"

"You can't just randomly call his friend _—"_

" _Please,_ Bucky." Steve pushed his phone into Bucky's hand so he could input the number. "I don't have his or any of his friend's numbers or where they live or anything—this is my only chance to not drive myself insane about it all weekend."

"What about your new guy?" Bucky seemed disappointed. "I thought you liked him."

"I do, I just—Tony still means something to me, okay? I need to know he's alright."

"You know I've got your back, Steve." Bucky sighed, typing in the number. "And  _because_ I have your back, you know I gotta warn you what a bad idea this guy is, right?"

"Message very well received, trust me." Steve took back his phone. "I'll see you around, Bucky."

"Yeah. Give me a call later, alright? Let me know if Captain Dumbass survived the night."

"You got it."

Bucky put the car in drive and left, while Steve stared at the number in his phone, realizing he'd completely forgotten to ask who the friend was. One way to find out, he supposed. It rang twice before someone picked up.

"Romanov."

Bucky's one night stand was a friend of Tony's?

"I, um, sorry to bother you, I just, uh. This is Steve, I'm in a class with—"

"I know who you are."

"You do?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Um, anyway, I'm calling—"

"To check on Tony."

"You're very good at the mind-reading thing."

"I didn't know. But if you weren't, I was going to hang up."

"Oh. Is he—?"

"He's exhausted and hungover and stupid as ever, but for him, that's par for the course."

"That's…good, I guess. Do you think I could maybe have his number? There's something I'd like to talk to him about."

"Tell me something, Rogers." Had he told her his last name? "How often do people make decisions for you?"

What kind of a question was that? Was she testing his responsibility or something?

"I make my own decisions."

"How often?"

"All the time?"

"Can you think of the last time someone decided you were incapable of making up your own mind?"

What was she talking about?

"I think my mom signed me up for a PSAT course against my will last summer."

"Did you like it?"

"The course?"

"Being told you didn't have the right to decide for yourself."

"Uh." He wouldn't put it that strongly. It was just a PSAT course. "No."

"Do us all a favor and keep that in mind."

The line went dead.

What?

Steve wasn't sure what that was supposed to mean, but he didn't have long to think about it; out of absolutely nowhere he felt a rush of pain slam into his shoulder, and he dropped his phone in surprise. As quickly as it had happened it was gone, and Steve paused to catch his breath. It had hurt immensely, but now it was as if nothing had happened at all. He rotated his entire arm, from wrist to elbow to shoulder. Nothing.

Had he bumped his funny bone? Couldn't be, there was nothing in his front yard to bump it on, and it hadn't tingled, it had  _hurt._  Was it some kind of muscle spasm? He shook his head to clear it, before picking his phone back up and heading inside.

* * *

Tony woke up alone. He was in his own bed though, so that was something. He flexed his fingers. He felt like he should be holding something, but couldn't remember what. Whatever, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except the ungodly amount of pain he was in. Jesus Christ, had someone bashed his head in with a hammer, or what? And why the fuck was there so much goddamn light in here?

He cracked open an eye to see a silhouette by the window, opening his blinds. If Tony had the physical capability of moving, he would've shot up in bed. As it was, his eyes flashed open and he turned very pale.

"Mom?" he croaked out.

"It's very late, darling." Her voice was paper-thin, fragile, and Tony knew the look in her eyes, the slight shake of her hands.

Howard was coming for him.

She was gone without a sound in the time it took Tony to throw off the covers, floating out of his room like she'd never been there at all. Maybe she hadn't. Maybe he'd had some crazy psychic premonition. It didn't matter. His parents weren't supposed to be home from Barcelona for another week at least, but it didn't matter where they were supposed to be, they were  _here._  Tony clenched and unclenched his fists, swallowing carefully.

Tony was no stranger to getting out of control at a party, but he'd always been very careful to do it when his parents weren't home. Howard had caught him coming home once before, the time they came back from Monaco two weeks early during his freshman year and bumped into Tony as he was stumbling in the door reeking of sex and alcohol.

It wasn't even close to the first time Howard had beaten him, but it had been by far the worst.

Closing his eyes now, he could still feel the sting of Howard's alumni ring catching across his cheek, knocking him down before he could get away. He still remembered the way the pain had been almost electric, crackling and sharp as it zigzagged through his bruised ribs while Howard spat that he'd ruin the Stark name if anyone found out what a pathetic bitch he was. He could still taste the thick, syrupy blood he'd coughed up and the broken jaw he'd earned for getting a speck of it on Howard's loafers.

His mother's silence still rang in his ears louder than anything else.

Tony opened his eyes again, forcing himself to push through the hangover. He grabbed his phone off the bedside table and dashed over to the window, fumbling with the latch. Howard would beat him just for going to a party; he'd beat him doubly if he knew he'd had sex, for taking it like an omega, no matter how in control Tony had been. If Howard got a whiff of him and smelled that he was bonded, smelled that someone had made a Stark their bitch—

" _Fuck,"_ he hissed, panic and the inklings of terror making his fingers shaky, "Come on, Stark. Come on you fucking idiot, it's a stupid fucking latch, don't be so fucking useless—"

It popped open at last, and he shoved the window open wide, slipping out and onto the roof. He closed the window behind him, crawling along the side of the house and clinging to it. He'd never done this before in his life. His parents were never home, he'd never had any need to sneak out before.

This was a really, really bad thing to try while hungover.

The ground, so far away, spun a little beneath him. He tried to focus. How could he get down? There was nothing along the side of the house that could be used as a ladder, no convenient trampolines or purposeless stacks of pillows to make a landing on if he jumped. There was a pool in the backyard…but it was too far away from the ledge, he wouldn't make a leap like that in a million years.

What time was it, anyway? He glanced at his phone; almost eleven. His parents must've just gotten home, or Howard would've already shouted at him to get his lazy ass out of bed already. He was always stressed after business trips, and he'd probably have been tense with Tony anyway, but one whiff of the alcohol still coating his breath, not to mention the new taken pheromones he was giving off…Howard would beat him senseless, particularly for the last one.

God, how many years had Howard spent warning him what would happen if he let someone make him their bitch? Starks were alphas; Starks were dominant, fearless leaders. If he couldn't be the former, the least he could do was attempt the latter. If Howard found out he had some alpha calling his shots now…

Fuck. His hands were shaking again.

 _Get a fucking grip._ Tony told himself.  _You're a fucking Stark, damn it, act like it._

Tony tried to clear his still painfully hungover brain and  _think._ If he could get to the ground and find a drugstore, he could get his hands on those pills they were always advertising during late night shows, Pherex, or whatever it was called. Everyone knew it was pretty much designed exclusively for cheating assholes, but if it hid his taken pheromones like it was supposed to, what did it matter what the cashier thought?

Tony leaned over the edge, trying to estimate how high up he was.

The smart thing to do would be go back inside and offer himself up to Howard. Get on his knees, beg for forgiveness, and let Howard beat him until he was satisfied. Begging was the only thing that ever made it better. Begging, Tony knew, made Howard feel justified, made him feel like he was doing the right thing in beating his pathetic bitch of a son. Begging would be the smart thing to do.

Well.

No one ever accused him of making smart decisions.

He landed in the bushes, trying to roll but landing on his shoulder instead. There was a fair amount of pain, mostly in his shoulder, but nothing seemed broken or dislocated so Tony sucked it up and kept going. If he stopped now to nurse his wounds, it would only give Howard a chance to catch him before he could get the pills. He disentangled himself from the bushes—owowow—and headed into the street, already dialing.

"Darling, lovely, wonderful Pepper—"

"What do you need?"

"A ride."

"I'm not your chauffeur, you have a car—"

"My keys are in the house, Pep." Tony's voice was light, easy. "Can't go back in the house right now."

Pepper and Rhodey were his two oldest friends. He'd known them since elementary school, had grown up with them. They didn't know the full story of what went on behind the iron-cast fence and manicured lawns of Stark Manor, no one did, but they knew more than anyone else. He'd taken solace under their roofs hundreds of times when Howard had gotten out of hand. Rhodey's parents loved him like a son, and if Pepper's parents had their way he'd be their son-in-law.

They each had different kinds of comfort; though they could both play the tough love game, Pepper was quicker to crack, and Tony needed that right now. He had a potentially broken arm, a father likely to flat out murder him if he couldn't hide his taken pheromones, and a soulmate who barely tolerated his existence. He couldn't handle tough love, not today.

"I'll meet you at Marvel park." Pepper told him, voice going gentle the way it always did when the subject of his parents came up. He knew it was pity and Howard would've been disgusted with him for accepting it, but he was too tired and hungover and hurt to feel anything but grateful.

"Could you, um. Could you bring me your biggest shirt, or maybe a sweatshirt? I don't have a shirt."

"Why don't you—"

"I'll tell you the whole story, I promise, but can we just…not right now?"

"Yeah." Pepper sighed softly. "Of course, Tony. I'll be there soon."

Tony headed for the park only a few blocks from his house. It was an immense, gorgeous place, made up of enormous trees that provided plenty of shade on even the hottest days and colorful flowers lining every pathway. There were sports fields and a playground, and it was always bustling with people. Tony liked it a lot; it was easy to disappear there, slip into the crowd and become invisible.

Even without a shirt, he blended in pretty seamlessly, sitting at his and Pepper's usual bench and waiting for her to arrive. She greeted him with a sweatshirt to the back of his head, and he shrugged it on gratefully. He moved to get up, but she gestured for him to stay seated.

"I talked to Natasha."

Tony winced.

"Exactly." Pepper leaned in. He caught a whiff of her perfume, something light and flowery, and she got a nose full of pheromones. "Oh, Tony."

"Why do I get the feeling you're going to talk about the number one thing on my Things I Don't Want To Talk About Ever list—"

"Tony." She took his hand. He flinched. "It  _is_  Steve, isn't it?"

"Look at that, thing number one."

"Tony, you've loved him for years, you should be happy." Pepper's brow furrowed. "You should be ecstatic. Why would you melt down like you did?"

"What part of  _last thing I want to talk about_ is so hard to understand?" Tony groaned. He pulled his hand away. "Look, if you're going to insist on talking at me about it, can we at least do it on the way? I need to get to a drugstore like yesterday."

"If you want." Pepper gave in with a sigh. She stood, heading back over to the car but not giving up. "I just don't understand how this is a bad thing."

"Pepper, I can't…" Tony ran a hand through his hair aggressively. "I can't  _do_ that. Not even for him. Especially not for him."

"Be in a relationship?" Pepper's lips quirked into a worried frown.

"Be…" Tony tried to phrase it better than  _someone's bitch._ Pepper would just argue with him. "That kind of omega."

He couldn't do it. He'd spent too many years cowering and giving in to Howard, proving over and over how pathetic and worthless he was. He couldn't let anyone else think that of him. Especially not Steve.

"Tony, being with someone doesn't mean you have to—"

"We have sufficiently talked enough about the number one Do Not Talk About subject." Tony brusquely brushed the concern off, getting in the car. "More importantly, drugstore. Yesterday."

"You're going to take that pill, aren't you." Pepper pursed her lips. "The one that makes your pheromones undetectable? Those are for adults, Tony, do you even know what they'll do to your body?"

"As long as they get rid of the taken pheromones, I don't give a shit."

They rode in silence for a while, and it was only once they'd pulled into the drugstore parking lot that Pepper spoke again. They were parked; she was giving him an out of the conversation if he wanted it.

"You think your father's going to do something, don't you?" Pepper's voice was quiet, careful. "If he finds out?"

Tony got out of the car, heading off into the drugstore without looking back.

There was no "think" about it.

* * *

Steve tried calling Natasha five more times over the course of the weekend. She didn't pick up once. It was frustrating, but there wasn't much else he could do about it. He tried to distract himself, picking up weekend shifts at the library, helping his mom around the house, hanging out with Bucky and the gang. Anything to take his mind off Tony for even a minute.

It was, on the whole, entirely unsuccessful.

Part of him wanted to try and reach through the bond. Soulbonds were supposed to be near perfect; theoretically, you could find your mate through instinct alone. Steve was skeptical about that, but more importantly, he knew that if he did try, Tony would know and immediately retaliate by shutting him out as forcefully as possible and maybe even doing some poking around of his own; Steve couldn't afford that.

If Tony even half-heartedly attempted to look into Steve's part of the bond, he was going to find out Steve was in love with him. No question. Steve was too worried about him, and frankly, still too caught up in the emotions of Friday night to think about anything but how desperately he wished it could've meant half as much to Tony as it had meant to him.

Steve left Tony's half of the bond well alone. Instead, he read up on omegas and soulbonds as much as he could. He spent hours scrolling through articles and sneak-reading books at work, but very little of it was useful. Most of it wasn't anything more than speculation, far too much of it was conservative propaganda, and there was a disturbing amount of highly inaccurate porn.

He was pretty sure he would've noticed if certain parts of Tony's anatomy were self-lubricating.

He was starting to see why Tony was so sensitive about every little thing though. It didn't make trying to have a conversation with him any easier, but it did shed some light on why he felt the need to jump on everything Steve said. Almost all of the material was biased in some way, some of it pretty harshly. It turned out there were even laws against omegas having certain kinds of jobs, owning their own businesses, taking out loans over certain amounts, all sorts of things Steve had never known or imagined.

And that was just the legal side of it. Sources that seemed perfectly unbiased would talk so naturally about things like omega's inherent unreliability, how they were made unstable by their heat cycles, how their hormones were too messed up for them to keep a level head. A lot of the more gossipy stuff went into how omegas were only good for taking to bed, because the same hormones that made them useless for any sort of responsibility made them loose and needy.

He hated that people thought of Tony like that, that people thought of  _anyone_ like that. He and Tony may not have been close until recently, but Steve had been pining over the guy for two years; he'd never seen Tony as someone who didn't know what he wanted. Tony was intelligent and extremely capable and someone who was nothing if not comfortable owning who he was.

He may not have made the same choices Steve would have, choosing to drink and party and sleep around, but they were his choices and they were unquestionably what he wanted. He didn't do it because his hormones made him easy, or because his biology was wired to make bad decisions. He did it because it was what he wanted to do.

Basically, most of the sources were utter bullshit, and it pissed Steve off.

"Steve, honey." His mom placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as she passed him another waffle. She always made them on Monday mornings, fluffy and fresh with tons of syrup and a pound of blueberries; they were Steve's favorite, and it was a tradition tracing all the way back to his very first day of school. "Talk to me. What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he assured her quickly, digging into his waffle instead, diverting the conversation, "These are really good, thank you."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear." She kissed his hair, then ruffled it. "And don't lie to your mother."

"I'm not—"

"That's your fifth waffle, Steven."

"Growth spurt?" Steve tried.

"If you have another, you'll shoot right through the ceiling." His mom chuckled. "You've always been an emotional eater, just like your father. Honestly, you can't drown your problems in syrup you know."

"I can try," Steve mumbled, pouring another gallon on. Maybe he just wasn't trying hard enough.

"Is this about your bondmate?" His mom turned the wafflemaker off and took the seat across from him at the table. Steve gulped.

"Uh."

"I smelled it when you walked in the door Saturday morning, dear. Do tell me it's that Tony boy, you've been waiting far too long for it not to be."

"Well." Steve ducked his head. Why were moms so hard to lie to? "Yeah."

"Did you use protection?"

" _Mom—"_

"When you kissed, of course." His mom hummed innocently. "That's how you sealed your bond, isn't it? With a kiss?"

"Yeah, mom." Steve hid an embarrassed grin.

"Did you?"

"Yes, mom, we were safe."

"That's my boy." She patted his hand. "You ought to bring him by, I'd love to meet him."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Steve bit his lip.

"Oh, honey." She frowned worriedly. "Have you already had a fight?"

"He doesn't want to be bonded to me," Steve told his waffle. He'd used too much syrup. Now it just looked soggy and sad.

"Now that's just not true." She took his free hand, the one not currently stabbing his lonely-looking waffle glumly, in both of hers. "Don't let that silly boy and his attempts to play coy fool you, sweetheart. Some people just take a little longer to open up than others."

"What if they do open up—" Stab. "—just to tell you—" Stab. "—how much they hate you—" Stab. "—and never want to kiss you again?"

"Well, first, let's put that fork down before you crack the plate in half, dear." She plucked the fork from his clenched hand and laid it on the table. "As for the rest of it, well that's just nonsense. He doesn't hate you, or you wouldn't still be bonded."

They would if it was a stupidly irreversible soulbond.

"I guess," Steve mumbled.

"Go to school. Talk to him." She squeezed his hand. "You'll work it out, Steve. Who could resist loving a sweetheart like you?"

"Mom." Steve's voice had the obligatory note of complaint, but her sincere words managed to get a smile out of him.

She was his mother and therefore all but required by law to say cheesy things like that on a near daily basis, but Steve caught himself gaining back just the littlest bit of hope anyway.


	7. Chapter 7

Why did Mondays even exist?

Tony put his car in park and leaned forward until his head hit the steering wheel. Steve was going to find him at some point today. No question about it. Natasha said he'd called  _five times_ over  _two days._ To have the guts to call Natasha five times was like calling someone else fifty. Steve clearly wanted to talk.

That didn't mean Tony was any more ready for this particular discussion than he had been when they'd bonded in the first place. He'd panicked then and he was panicking now and he would continue to panic as long as Steve had any sort of claim over him. Which, if everything Tony had ever read, watched, or heard of was true, was kind of forever.

Fuck his life.

In his head, everything was sorted out very nicely. He would take the stupid Pherex crap once a day for the rest of his teendom no matter how foul it tasted, move out the second he turned eighteen, and Howard would never find out his son was someone's bitch. He would tell Steve it was a fluke, offer to pay for a Pherex prescription for him too, then shake hands and agree to never talk about the whole crazy, awkward thing ever again.

In reality, there was a not-so-slight problem; Steve was  _Steve._ He was adorably dorky and unfairly funny and stupidly kind and pretty much the only person in the world Tony would have even  _hesitated_ for, much less spent his entire awful weekend battling the surprisingly strong desire to give a relationship with him a try.

There was a part of Tony that wanted to see if maybe Steve could surprise him, could be good to him. But his mother had warned him how quickly alphas changed when they got a mate, especially an omega, how they could react to a taste of ownership; he couldn't risk it.

What if Steve _was_  good to him? What if Steve was sweet and loving and wonderful, and they were happy? Tony would let down his defenses. Of course he would, it was fucking Steve, Tony's defenses were weakened just by his proximity. What if he let Steve in, and then Steve changed?

When Mom had the energy to talk, she sometimes told him about how Howard used to be. How driven and engaging he'd been, eager to learn and create and design. How he'd swept her off her feet from moment one, how she'd gotten caught up in his charm and wit and never looked back.

She said there was no one moment she'd known. No decisive turning point at which she realized the man she'd married was not the man she'd fallen in love with. It was slow, gradual, increasing with little things all the time until suddenly she was driving her drunken son to the ER with a broken jaw and bruised ribs and couldn't figure out what had gone wrong with her storybook romance.

Steve could be just as capable of that.

If it were anyone else, it wouldn't be a problem. Tony would be well-assured of his ability to drop their ass in a second, to tell them they could go fuck themselves and he would take off without looking back. Steve…Tony could see himself falling for it. He could see himself falling into the trap of loving Steve enough to ignore the signs, warnings, the yank of an arm here or a rougher shove than necessary there. He could see himself rationalizing it away, over and over until it was twenty years later and he was in the ER again.

He couldn't take that, not from Steve.

Tony shook his head, tried to clear himself of his more serious thoughts. He couldn't take it, and he wouldn't. He'd walk in there, tell Steve sorry you got a fucked up fluke of a soulmate, sucks bro, let's never talk about this again, cool?

Yeah, he got the feeling Steve wasn't going to fist bump him for that one.

He hoisted his backpack up and headed across the parking lot and through the gate, keeping an eye out for big blond and buff. He needed advance warning after all, had to head off any sorts of surprises or convincing monologues or—oof.

Steve practically lifted him off the ground with a hug from behind, and Tony scowled to himself. Hugs were exactly the sort of thing he should've headed off at the pass. Seriously, how could Steve be so muscular and so freaking cuddly at the same time? He didn't feel stiff or too solid, just warm and comfortable and kind of like a big pillow Tony could just curl up into and never let go of.

See, bad thoughts, this was  _exactly_ why they were going to have to instigate a no-touching rule—

"I'm so glad you're alright," Steve said into his neck, and whoa, okay, what, personal space, hello. How was Tony supposed to tell Steve to leave him alone with his lips pressed against Tony's neck? Tony wondered if Steve had ever given someone a hickey before. Wondered if he'd want to. Wondered if he'd use his teeth—

"—ny?"

"Huh?"

Steve released him, looking a bit embarrassed at his actions but not particularly sorry, which, no. He should feel sorry. He should run off and never touch Tony again, because being hugged by Steve was horribly wonderful and needed to not happen ever again for the sake of Tony's mental health.

He considered running. It was a viable option. He couldn't outmuscle Steve, but there was a sliver of a chance he could outrun him. He'd always been a fast runner, and Steve was probably weighed down by all those bulky, unnecessarily gorgeous muscles of his. Tony was momentarily distracted by the memory of what was under Steve's nondescript hoodie and t-shirt before he shook his head; bad train of thought.

Steve had pulled back enough for Tony to turn around, though they were still unnecessarily close. Tony's rational mind told him to take another step back, put some real space between them. The rest of him just wanted to grab Steve by the collar and kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Tony resisted the urge to groan. He could already tell this was going to be recurring problem.

"You are alright, aren't you?" Steve's brow furrowed a bit, and Tony told himself sternly that he most certainly did not find it adorable. "Your friend Natasha was as vague as she was cryptic."

"Sounds about right."

"Did she tell you I called?"

"She said you harassed her all weekend."

"Just twice a day." Steve's cheeks went a bit pink. "Might've been three times, the first day."

"I'm fine." Tony held his arms out. "See? No need to go hunting down my friends."

"I didn't have your number." Steve held out his phone.

"Oh, uh, you know, I'm not sure we need to exchange numbers, really. I mean, yeah, okay, we have the bond thing but it was a fluke, honestly. Look, I'll buy you some Pherex too and we can both just—"

"Pherex? Isn't that for…" Steve frowned, then he was back in Tony's space again, his nose practically buried in Tony's neck.

"Jesus, what're you—"

"What did you do?" Steve just stepped even closer, worry in his eyes. "I know we're still bonded, I can feel it. What happened to your taken pheromones?"

"Like I said, Pherex." Tony shrugged blithely. "It's this magical drug I now have to take once a day every day. Thanks for that, really, I needed a pill addiction on top of everything else—"

"Wha— _why?"_

"Why do you think, Einstein? I smell like I'm taken."

"You  _are_ taken."

"Wrong," Tony snapped, "Listen good: I'm not your mate, I'm not your fucktoy, hell, I'm barely your friend _._ I don't belong to you, okay? It was a stupid fluke. I'm trying to correct it."

"We wouldn't have bonded if we weren't something." A particularly attractive muscle in Steve's jaw jumped. It was bad enough the guy was stubborn, he had to be sexy stubborn? Tony's life wasn't hard enough before?

"It was your first time, you got carried away, it happens." Tony moved to turn away. "Let's just try and forget about—"

"And you?" Steve demanded.

"And me what?" Tony narrowed his eyes.

"You keep acting like this is all my fault," Steve accused, "Like because I'm the one who knotted I magically made it happen all on my own, but I've been reading everything I can get my hands on and you know what everyone agrees on? Bonds are a two way street, Tony. Always. I'm not bonded to you;  _we're_ bonded to  _each other._ Call it first time attachment for me all you want, but it wasn't your first time and yet here we are. So you tell me what that's supposed to mean."

_It means I've been in love with you since the first time you smiled at me._

"It means you're good in bed, Rogers." It wasn't  _really_ a lie. Sure, he could use a little more practice with the mechanics, but really, Steve had picked up on it all terrifyingly fast. "I got carried away. Like I said, it happens."

"You got carried away and what?" Steve pressed. "Felt something?"

"Stop trying to turn this  _thing—"_ Tony waved a wild hand between them. "—into some kind of relationship! Can't you take a hint? I don't want anything to do with you, Rogers!"

"That." Steve stepped closer. "Is a lie. And we both know it."

Tony turned away, nothing more to say. Steve's hand landed on his arm; Tony wanted to be mad, to feel pushed around, but Steve's hold was careful. It was feather-soft and easily breakable, entirely because he wanted it to be. Even surrounded by crowds of students and through both their jackets, the press of Steve's fingertips curled around his arm felt as intimate as if they were alone and laid bare in that room at Thor's all over again.

A twig pelted Steve in the forehead.

"Ow!" Steve blinked widely, letting go to rub his forehead, expression going from serious to puppy dog confusion in the space of a second. "What was…oh."

Steve looked over Tony's shoulder. Tony turned around to see every friend he'd ever made crowded together on a planter too small to hold them all less than a few yards away. Most of them, aware they had been spotted, were now pretending to talk. Clint, having long given up on concepts like subtlety, leaned off the branch of the tree he'd climbed to glare at Steve. He made an 'I'm watching you' signal when Steve caught his eye.

"Your friends are…charming," Steve chuckled.

"Barton saved your life," Tony insisted with a scowl, "I was going to flip you over my shoulder any minute."

"Of course you were." There was a hint of a smile on Steve's face, and it pissed Tony off. Before he could tell Steve so, Steve kept talking. "I'll drop it for now if that's what you want, Tony. But we're still bonded. It's not going to go away, and you're going to have to talk to me eventually."

"I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of an Olympic gold medalist in procrastination and repression. I think I'll be fine."

"Suit yourself." Steve pulled a sharpie out of his pocket, and took Tony's arm again, carefully this time. He made eye contact with Clint and waved his pen to show his intentions so he didn't get beaned with another tree branch, before pushing Tony's sleeve up and scrawling out a number on Tony's arm. "Call me when you want to talk."

"What, are we in some cheesy 80's romcom now?" Tony made a face, though he didn't interrupt Steve's scrawling.

"If you like. Call when you're ready for me outside your window with a boombox, then."

Before Tony could stop sputtering, Steve had his pen tucked back in his pocket and was disappearing around the corner. Tony glanced at his arm. There was a number, and a little doodle of a boombox.

"You are so fucked." Rhodey came up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder with a smirk.

"I hate you." Tony scowled.

"I am now officially taking bets on how long it takes Steve to cute his way into Tony's heart." Clint held out his hands to Natasha and Pepper, his two best takers for bets. "A month? A week? Not even?"

"Two weeks." Natasha decided.

"I give him until Steve calls." Pepper rolled her eyes.

"He doesn't have my number," Tony reminded her, "And I wouldn't cave just from a phone call, come on!"

"He wouldn't call anyway, he put the ball in Tony's court." Bruce pointed out to Pepper.

"Yeah, but if he knows Tony at all, he knows he needs to lob another seven metaphorical balls at Tony's head before he actually gets it." Rhodey snorted. "And I give Tones a weeks hold out, tops."

"That's insulting." Tony made a face. "You say that like I  _should_ give in—"

"Can we also bet on when Steve'll make another move?" Bruce asked Clint. "Because he looked like he's got something else up his sleeve if you ask me."

"Are any of you even listening to me?" Tony demanded.

"Good bet, I like it." Clint pulled out his notebook and a pen, starting to write up the bets. "Nat, Pep, let's hear it."

"I agree with Bruce, he's going to do something today." Pepper nodded.

"He'll wait." Natasha shook her head. "Tomorrow."

"After school," Rhodey contributed.

"Never because he's smart enough to know I want nothing to do with him and will therefore leave me alone?"

Tony was, unsurprisingly, ignored.

* * *

Pepper and Bruce won the "Steve's next move" pot.

Natasha argued that it wasn't technically a  _move,_ but since it involved Steve literally moving, she was outvoted.

Steve had somehow convinced Janet Van Dyne, the girl who sat to Tony's left in History, to switch seats with him. Tony had no idea how he'd managed it, since it was a window seat and Tony had been trying to get Janet to switch with him all year to no avail, but he wasn't about to ask. That would involve talking to Steve, which Tony was steadfastly Not Doing.

He hadn't said a word when Steve had sat down in the wrong seat, even though he'd been sure Janet would come in and kick his ass. He hadn't said a word when Janet had calmly taken Steve's old seat, and winked at him when he stared. He hadn't said a word when he'd turned to stare at Steve, and the bastard had just smiled smugly.

Steve hadn't tried to talk to him either, and that was perhaps more frustrating than anything else. Steve spent the class taking notes as studiously as ever, looking for all the world like he had no idea he was sitting next to Tony at all.

Bastard.

The bell rang, and Tony was out the door in a flash.

"No running in the halls, Stark." Coulson warned him, but Tony kept going with a roll of his eyes. What was Coulson gonna do about i—Tony tumbled head over heels, tripping over the leg stuck out in front of him. He hit his shoulder again, the unhealed bruises flaring up with a vengeance.

"You heard him." Bobbi Morse, one of Coulson's yearbook narcs and Clint's on-again off-again flame, stared down at him.

"Aw, come on Bobbi, you used to be cool." Tony scowled. "That hurt."

"It did not." She rolled her eyes.

"It did, actually," someone said from behind him, and Tony winced. Great, he'd been slowed down enough for Steve to catch up. Tony turned to see Steve rubbing his shoulder, and he put the pieces together.

"Oh, fuck."

"Yeah." Steve rolled his shoulder experimentally. "What did you do to your shoulder on Saturday?"

"Nothing," Tony blurted, "Nothing at all bye."

He grabbed his backpack and took off down the hallway, ignoring Bobbi's shouts to not run in the hall and Steve's disappointed sigh. He hadn't known Steve would feel him bruising his shoulder, but now that he knew he wasn't surprised. There were supposed to be a lot of things you could feel through a soulbond, if it was strong enough and you were open to it, but pain was always said to be the clearest.

What could he say? I jumped off a roof escaping my asshole of a father because you made me your bitch and it'll get me beaten to shit? That would go over just peachy. Tony ducked around a corner and out of Steve's sight, hoping that would be the end of it.

It wasn't.

The whole week was one long stretch of antic after antic. He bumped into Steve  _everywhere,_ and in the most ridiculously contrived ways. Steve would pop out from around every corner, would "accidentally" end up wherever Tony did on his off period, even showed up to science club with a bunch of questions Tony was almost positive Steve had googled off the internet.

It was obnoxiously, frustratingly sweet.

Tony did his best to avoid Steve, but Steve seemed to be doing his best to do the opposite, and apparently Steve's best was better than Tony's because not a day went by that Tony didn't see the smug bastard's too-gorgeous face. Which didn't explain why Tony snuck into Steve's game on Friday, but.

Whatever else about Steve confused and irritated Tony, his ass did look damn good in tights.

* * *

Steve knew Tony clearly had problems with the idea of a relationship.

He didn't know if it was with relationships in general or just with him, but it didn't matter. Steve could be persistent as all hell when he wanted to be, and he wasn't embarrassed to admit his mother's words had renewed his confidence. While he and Tony couldn't break their bond, what she'd said about there not being a bond without some feelings was true; Steve couldn't have magically formed it all on his own. Tony felt  _something_ for him, it was undeniable or they wouldn't have bonded.

He felt silly not thinking of it sooner, but he blamed first time nerves and an overdose of teenage angst.

He wasn't even close to understanding why Tony had so many problems with all of it, but he was okay with waiting. He'd been stubbornly determined to pursue Tony in spite of being an omega before; why on earth would he give up now that Tony was his  _soulmate?_ This was a good thing, a step forward however small, no matter what Tony seemed to think.

Steve was careful not to cross any of Tony's invisible lines, though. He came up with crazy excuses to bump into Tony all the time, but never talked about anything heavier than homework and the weather unless Tony brought it up first. Steve wasn't stupid; there was more at play here than "Tony wasn't feeling it". But he didn't force Tony to talk about it, didn't dig into their bond to find answers, never pushed to Tony hang around him if he didn't want to.

Just made himself exceptionally and frequently available if Tony did.

He could sense Tony was warming up to him, if slowly. He knew Tony had even come to his game on Friday. Steve had felt it, and played all the harder to impress him. He knew it was going to take time, but it was like his mom always said; the best things in life were worth the effort it took to get them.

Steve was more than okay trading easy for Tony.

He'd been cautious about telling his friends in light of how they'd reacted to finding out Tony was an omega, but they unflinchingly supported him. Jane was especially apologetic, but Steve understood. It had been a hopeless dream if he and Tony weren't soulmates; now that they were, now that Steve had even a chance of not getting his heart broken, his friends had his back.

Well, after Bucky punched him in the shoulder hard enough to bruise and called him a lying dickface.

"I didn't  _lie,"_ Steve protested, rubbing his shoulder. He wondered if Tony had felt it. "You made assumptions and I didn't correct you like I should've, but I wasn't ready to talk about it."

"God, you are the only person on the planet who would put up with their fucking soulmate giving them this kind of shit." Bucky rolled his eyes. "Isn't the whole deal supposed to be unconditional love and whatever, perfect for each other, blah blah blah? What's the hold-up?"

"Shut up, man." Sam smacked Bucky on the back of the head. "Steve, you just keep doing your thing. Tony'll come around."

"Tony's halfway there as it is." Jane giggled. "You should've seen his face when Steve showed up in science club."

"What did you do in science club?" Sam grinned.

"I asked him some science questions, what else could I do?" Steve bit down on an embarrassed grin. It had been one of his more ridiculous attempts.

"He came in with a list of questions he'd  _obviously_ googled and just ran through the list." Jane burst into laughter. "It was the most ridiculous things, like what the chemical composition of salt was and how the periodic table was organized and all sorts of things. Anytime Tony tried to pass him off, everyone completely ignored him. Well, Hank offered to help, but Bruce stepped in and made him clean beakers. Tony even tried to pass Steve to Johnny at one point, but Johnny just threw a basketball at Tony's head for trying—"

"Which could've actually hurt him—" Steve pointed out with a frown.

"—and naturally Steve caught it, and Tony sniped at him for ten minutes about not needing his protection or help or anything like that before Steve shut him up  _brilliantly_ —"

"It was silly—" Steve protested, still sort of embarrassed.

"It was  _hysterical."_ Jane waved him off. "Tony's going on and on, full-blown rant mode about how omegas aren't weak and fuck you for thinking so and how his reflexes are fast as a ninja, and in the middle of a sentence, Steve just flicks his eraser at Tony's forehead. Tony stops talking mid-sentence, his mouth totally hanging open, and Steve, meek and adorable and devious as all get out, just looks up at Tony innocently and asks what happened to his ninja reflexes."

Bucky and Sam burst into laughter.

"Anthony's face was indeed priceless." Thor gave a rumbling laugh.

"It made him run, though." Steve sighed glumly.

"From his feelings, maybe." Jane snorted, telling Sam and Bucky. "When he got the ability to speak back, he told Steve 'fuck you, you're not allowed to be funny, too' and ran off."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean." Steve admitted.

"It means he thinks you're funny, and the 'too' means he's thinking other good thoughts about you." Jane smiled, patting Steve on the shoulder. "Buck up! You're getting to him."

"Here's hoping." Steve smiled.

* * *

He was in class when it happened.

At first, it was just uncomfortable. A warm pressure in his abdomen, sort of like someone was sitting on his stomach. It grew steadily more intense, until Steve was hunching over, wrapping his arms around himself to try and pressure it into going away. He was quiet and in the back, so no one seemed to notice.

When the first sparks of pain started to settle in, Steve quickly raised a hand. He was excused to the nurse's, and he all but ran across campus. The running didn't make it feel better, but it didn't make it feel worse, either. It was a steady pain settling low in his gut and just… _burning._

Nurse Hill took one look at him, sighed, and waved him inside. She sat him down on the cot and quickly and efficiently began running through a checklist of questions while taking his temperature, heart rate, and other vitals.

"Name?"

"Steven Rogers."

"Senior?"

"Junior."

"What hurts?"

"My stomach, it's…it's like it's on fire."

"Anything else?"

"Bit of a headache? More dizzy than anything else."

"You're sweating, too, and your cheeks are flushed." Nurse Hill noted, and Steve just flushed more. He couldn't help it.

"Where's your mate?" she asked at last.

Steve was thrown by the question. He'd been thinking about Tony almost nonstop since it happened, wondering where he was, if he could feel Steve's pain through the bond, if he even cared. Hearing someone say Tony's name, oddly, made the pain sharper.

"I—I don't know, class, probably. Why?"

She gave him a shrewd look he couldn't interpret.

"Your mate's an omega. Right?"

Steve paused. It wasn't his story to tell, but if the nurse was asking…there could be a medical reason? It wasn't like he had to say  _who_ it was.

"Yes. How did you—?"

"Because for all intents and purposes you're in heat." The nurse told him as casually as if she'd said he was having a stomachache.

"I'm what?" Steve's eyes went wide.

"You aren't really." She chuckled at the look on his face. "But your mate is, so you're experiencing similar symptoms. Is this the first time?"

Steve nodded, gritting his teeth a bit.

"Did you bond recently?" Nurse Hill marked something on her clipboard, taking everything in startling stride.

"A week and a half ago."

"I see." The nurse nodded, making note of something on her clipboard. "New relationship or not, they should've warned you. I know it's not a particularly fun or sexy conversation, but it's necessary information for you. The length between cycles depends on the omega, but tends to be fairly regular. They should be able to tell you when to expect this in the future."

"He wouldn't want to talk about it, we're not…" Steve winced, fully expecting judgment. "Together, exactly."

"You're bonded." She sighed. She didn't seem pleased with his answer, but she wasn't judging. Steve found himself relieved. "Whether you're a couple or not is irrelevant. If he goes into heat, you're going to know."

"But I…" Steve paused, unsure how to phrase it. Well, he knew how to phrase himself, it was just awkward. "I'm confused. If he's in heat…why am I in pain? Shouldn't it be, um. Arousing?"

"You're not going spiral out of control with desire, Steve." Nurse Hill gave him a reproving sort of look. "You're just going to be in pain because he is, and want to comfort him. Sex happens to be the best way to do that."

"He's not going to—oh  _God."_ Steve doubled over, breathing heavily as a particularly powerful wave hit him. Pain aside, Steve knew one thing with certainty. "He, he's not going to want me anywhere near him."

"You should still go home. The discomfort won't subside for another three to five days." She spun around in her chair to grab her pad of hall passes. "I'll inform the attendance office you're on heat leave."

"But I'm not in—"

"You're going to feel every inch of this your mate is. If he's in heat, you essentially are as well." She ripped off the pass and handed it to him. "If you can't go to him, go home. Direct sunlight's going to hurt your eyes, so try and avoid it, and you're going to feel very overheated, so find a fan or take a cold bath. Drink lots of water, sleep as much as you can, and do  _not_ take any medication. Since you're not actually in heat, the pain is psychosomatic; taking medication won't do anything but mess with your hormones."

"Thank you." Steve accepted the pass weakly, staring at it for a long moment before asking, "And what if I…if I did, um. Find him. And we…?"

"If you had sex."

"Yes."

"It goes away."

"And we're supposed to just keep doing that, to keep the pain away?" Steve gulped, suddenly feeling very uncertain of his ability to maintain that. "For…for three to five days?"

"God, no." She gave a soft snort. "Once or twice is usually enough, re-establishes the strength of the bond. He'll still be in heat, but that just means it'll be uncomfortable again if you get more than a few yards away from each other, which is why you have those days off." She looked at him then, somehow managing to be both scolding and soft, a bit pitying. "It's not all about sex, Steve. It's supposed to be about love."

Steve knew she was trying to help, but he felt himself go on the defensive anyway.

"I just, it always looked like omegas were weak and needed protecting," he tried to explain, "That all they wanted was some alpha to come along to take care of them, and then once they did, it was just constant sex. But then there's Tony, and he's  _nothing_ like  _anyone_  I've ever met, omega or not, and he doesn't need protection, and he sure as hell isn't letting me or anyone else take care of him, and I just, I don't…" Steve ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "I don't know what to do with him. I never do."

"You need to let go of these expectations you have of him, and of omegas." Nurse Hill laid a hand on his shoulder. "Not only are they probably wrong, but this is all a lot more intuitive than you think. You're bonded with him. That means something. Listen to what your instincts are trying to tell you."

"If I go…will we…can I be around him without…?" Steve waved a hand.

"Are you asking me if you're going to do something to him against his will?" Nurse Hill's eyebrows jumped up just a fraction. "I don't know. You tell me."

"I just mean, all the pheromones—"

"Aren't going to magically make you a rapist. You really ought to be figuring all this out with your omega, instead of taking likely-alpha television producers' words for it." She waved him out. "Now go on. Go to him or go home, but stop dawdling here."

Steve let himself be shooed, stumbling out of the office and heading for the public bus stop. He sat down on the bench to wait for the next bus, breathing heavily and trying to focus on something that wasn't pain or Tony. It was impossible. Listen to your instincts, huh?

His instincts wanted to see Tony.

A lot.


	8. Chapter 8

A number of sources agreed soulmates could find each other, if they focused.

Steve tried to focus, tried to channel every wave of discomfort rolling through him towards something useful. He'd never been to Tony's house, had no idea what direction it was in or what it looked like or anything at all, but it wasn't long before he felt a pull.

He didn't think about it too much, just let himself be tugged along in what he could only hope was the right direction. Trust your instincts, right? That's what Nurse Hill had said, anyway. So he kept up his brisk jog, turning corners at seemingly random, ignoring the unfamiliar scenery going by without concern.

He eventually turned down a path and started up a forested hill, thinking nothing but  _instinct, instinct, instinct,_ and found himself in front of a large, sprawling mansion. He didn't recognize it, he'd certainly never been there, but he knew immediately and without doubt this was where Tony lived. It smelled of him, faintly, but more than that, Steve could feel his presence inside.

He didn't know the gate code so he climbed the fence, running up to the door and knocking without preamble.

"Tony? Tony!"

There was no answer. If Steve had been thinking rationally, he never would've dared open the door to a stranger's home, but something happened. Steve couldn't have explained it in words, other than to say that something in their bond spiked; it wasn't just pain he felt on Tony's end but  _fear,_  and that overrode any common sense Steve had.

He opened the door, thankfully unlocked, and spun around in the unfamiliar territory. The place was immense, too many hallways and corridors to count, so Steve just closed his eyes and followed his bond, taking off down the first hallway that felt right.

_Instinct, instinct, instinct—_

_Tony._

Steve skidded to a stop in front of a door, the wave of need hitting him low and harder than any punch. It was need, unquestionably, but it wasn't the need he'd expected; there was no irresistible urge to go in there and fuck Tony into submission, no overruling arousal that made him aggressive and dominating. All he knew was that Tony was in pain, Tony was hurting and scared and Steve  _needed_ to make it better. It wasn't sexual, not exactly—though that was there too, a desire buzzing away under his skin—he just couldn't stand the thought of Tony having to continue to go through this when he could make it better.

"Tony, please." Steve's voice was soft, but he knew Tony heard him.

"Get  _out,_ Rogers!" Tony just snarled through the locked door.

Steve could probably force it open, but he knew he couldn't do that to Tony. There was fear leaking through their bond, and it made Steve just as afraid. He couldn't quite get a grip on what was causing it, not yet, but he knew that forcing his way in would only make it worse.

"Tony, I—I'm sorry, I know you didn't want me here, but I want—"

"I don't give a  _fuck_ what you want!" Tony shut him down immediately. "You lay a fucking hand on me and I'll kill you!"

"I don't—I  _wouldn't,_ Tony," Steve insisted, "I just want to help you—"

"Yeah, with your magic alpha dick, I'm sure—well you can go fuck yourself, I don't need you!"

"Stop interrupting me!" Steve snapped, alpha pheromones leaking into his voice without him meaning to.

"Don't fucking try and use that shit on me!" Tony's response was instantaneous, fierce and insulted, "You can order me around all fucking day with all the goddamn alpha pheromones you want and I won't open this fucking door!"

"I'm not ordering anything!" Steve threw his hands up in frustration. "I could rip this stupid door off its hinges if I wanted but I won't because you don't want me to and as I'm  _trying to tell you,_ I am never going to do _anything_  to you don't want me to!"

There was nothing but silence from the other side of the door, but Steve could feel Tony begin to doubt what he'd assumed were Steve's intentions. Steve pushed his advantage.

"Tony, please. I know you didn't want me to know, but you can't just…you can't keep shutting me out like this. This heat thing sucks and I really could've used a warning, but more than that, you ignoring me like this  _hurts._  I know alpha is some kind of dirty word to you, but it doesn't have to mean I'm your owner or boss or whatever it is you think I'm trying to be. I don't want to come in there so I can take control of you or, or have sex with you if you don't want me to, but the nurse said proximity helps and I want to make you feel better, Tony. That's all. I promise."

The silence continued, and he could feel some of Tony's fear begin to dissipate. The wait was excruciatingly long, but Tony needed it, so Steve sucked it up and waited. He could hear movement, and he got the impression Tony was putting clothes on. Considering Tony's general lack of anything resembling shame or embarrassment it made him curious, but before Steve could ask, there was a click and Tony was opening the door.

He looked the way Steve felt. His skin was flushed and clammy, sheened with sweat, and he watched Steve with edgy suspicion.

"If you so much as lay a finger on me, I'll kill you," Tony warned, but he stepped back and let Steve in.

Tony's room was much as Steve would've imagined. Electronics of all kinds littered the floor, bits and pieces of things Steve couldn't hope to identify strewn about and tinkered with. He had some basic furniture, a desk and a dresser and some bookshelves, but technology seemed to be the ruling presence. Steve glanced at the book titles; they were hard sciences and car manuals and how to guides, nothing Steve would be able to get through.

There were three portable fans set up in the room, and they, along with the ceiling fan, were all on high. The room was freezing, but in the best possible way. The cool air was a wave of relief on Steve's fevered skin, and Tony noticed.

"There's water there." He nodded at a large cooler next to his bed. "If you want."

Steve still ached, would probably continue to ache unless they did something about it, but it wasn't as bad as when he'd been miles away, or even when he'd been on the other side of the door. He still longed to pull Tony to him, to hold him, to kiss him, to make him feel better the way his body was telling him he could, but he just sat on the edge of Tony's bed instead.

Tony sat on the floor, pulling one of his gadgets to him along with a screwdriver, and started taking it apart.

"I usually just tinker," Tony said after more silence, his eyes never leaving his project, "It helps to stay occupied. But it, uh. Comes and goes. It's kind of like, waves, I guess? And when they hit, you can't really, I mean, you're not gonna have the energy to do anything but lie there. And that was before we bonded, so."

"You think it'll be worse?"

"Has been so far. Not to mention, this…" Tony hesitated, seeming reluctantly apologetic. "I would've warned you. If I'd known. But it came out of fucking nowhere, I'm not due for another month and a half. I have no idea where the hell this came from, just that I woke up and could barely get out of bed, much less go to school."

"I didn't feel it this morning." Steve frowned.

"It wasn't pain until just an hour or so ago. It always starts with exhaustion, I can sleep for like a day and half beforehand if I know it's coming on. I guess you don't get the exhaustion part of it." Tony twisted something on the device a bit viciously, his voice bitter. "Makes sense. I don't need you to fuck me then, why would you need to know?"

"I don't think this is just about sex, Tony."

"That explains why once every three months our bodies demand we fuck," Tony retorted wryly.

" _After_  we bond," Steve pointed out, "Which is more emotional than physical."

"I seem to recall our bonding getting very physical." Tony snorted, and Steve didn't like his cavalier attitude about it all.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me there were no emotions involved."

"It was your first time, there were bound to be  _some—"_

"For you."

"For me what?" Tony still wasn't looking at him.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you felt nothing." Steve swallowed dryly. He'd never been one to back down from a challenge, but he wasn't sure what he'd do if he lost this one. "That I mean nothing to you."

Tony looked up from his project. He watched Steve carefully for a long, endless minute.

"It's possible you're not the worst person to be bonded to."

Steve's smile was so wide it almost hurt. It was ridiculous and frankly a little pathetic, but he didn't care.

"You're not half bad yourself, Tony."

Tony gave a small, tentative smile of his own before ducking his head and refocusing on his project. Silence reigned again, and Steve laid back on Tony's bed. Tony's scent was strong here, and it made the heat a little easier to bear. He closed his eyes and breathed it in; getting a feel for Tony's essence like that gave Steve a deep sense of calm.

_Mate._

It was a long time before he opened his eyes again. When he did, Tony was…well, if Steve didn't know better, he'd say Tony was staring at him almost longingly. They met eyes, and Tony quickly returned to his work, but the back of his neck was pink. That wasn't the heat, that was—

"You  _do_  blush." The words fell out before Steve could stop them. He was aware, vaguely, that he was smiling a bit dopily, but he was too delighted to discover Tony was capable of embarrassment after all to care.

"I do not."Tony yanked a wire out with unnecessary force.

"You do, the back of your neck…"

Steve moved forward, some strange impulse to brush his fingers there catching him unaware. He stopped himself in time, but Tony still saw the movement. His whole body immediately went tense, set to run, his hands clenching tightly like he was preparing himself to fight Steve off at any moment. Steve wanted to feel hurt, but he'd had the exact same concern little more than an hour or so ago and couldn't blame Tony for expecting it too.

"If you can't control yourself—" Tony's eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't like that, I was just going to…" Steve trailed off. "The back of your neck turns pink when you're embarrassed."

"It does not." Tony's neck went just a bit pinker. Steve stayed silent, but his smile must've given him away. "If you're going to say stupid things, you can leave."

"I'll be quiet," Steve assured him.

The silence was brief.

"Could I ask you something?"

"You understand that the one good thing about my heat was being left alone to build undisturbed for four days, right?"

"Just one."

Tony made a growly sort of grunt that wasn't exactly a yes, but didn't technically count as a no.

"Have you ever been around an alpha in heat before?"

Tony's fear was…well, it seemed unwarranted. Steve couldn't ever recall making a move towards Tony that even bordered on aggressive, today or any day before. If Tony just thought Steve wouldn't be able to control himself while Tony was in heat, well, hadn't he been proving that he could since he'd walked in the door? He hadn't so much as inched toward Tony aside from the slip of wanting to touch the blush on the back of his neck, and that hadn't been sexual.

He  _wanted_ Tony, of course he did, but he always did. It was usually ignorable; this was just a little more in his face. More than he wanted to satiate Tony's heat, however, he wanted to find and eliminate the cause of Tony's fear. The idea that he might have something to do with that fear made Steve worry. Tony was always so wary of alphas. Had he seen something, or God forbid, had something happened to him that made him so cautious?

"Alphas don't get heats." Tony dismissed his question.

"An alpha sharing a heat, then," Steve amended.

"Have you?" Tony was dodging the question, but Steve's mother's words came back to him; some people needed longer to open up than others. The best way to encourage Tony to open up was to be as open with him as he could.

"No," Steve answered, "My grandfather was an omega, but I never met him, or my grandmother, or anyone else who was soulbonded. This is…it's new to me, Tony. I'm trying to learn, but it'd be a lot easier if you'd talk to me about it."

Tony didn't say anything for an exceptionally long time. Steve thought Tony might've made the decision not to answer his question, until nearly ten minutes later when Tony spoke again. He didn't look up from his project, but his shoulders were tense, the lines of his face hard.

"My mom's an omega." His hands had become stiff and clinical, going through the motions more than anything else. "So this is less new, to me. But you…you're very new."

"What do you mean?"

"You're different."

Steve wondered if Tony meant different from his father or from alphas in general, but before he could ask, Tony was letting go of his screwdriver to reach under the bed. He pulled out a kitchen knife, standing up and turning to show it to Steve.

"Oh my God." Steve flinched back, eyes flying wide open. "Tony…Tony, oh my  _God,_ why do you—? _"_

"I felt you trying to find me through the bond earlier, and I…I thought it was going to be a necessary precaution. But you aren't—"

"You were going to  _stab me_ for  _finding you?"_

"No! I just, fuck it, I knew you wouldn't understand—" Tony spat, but Steve cut him off.

"Then  _explain!"_ Steve inched back on the bed, still wary of the knife Tony hadn't released.

"I just…" Tony ran a hand through his hair aggressively, frustration evident in his every movement. "You're a fucking foot taller than me, okay? You have muscles in places I didn't know existed! If you—god, Steve, you're so fucking  _nice_ and you're so much better to me than I deserve and I  _wanted_ to think you'd stay like that, but if your hormones went whack and you decided you want to take me, I— _fuck,_ I just, I know I keep saying I can fight you off but I'm not so goddamn sure I can, okay?"

Steve tried to breathe. Tried to remind himself that he'd made the exact same assumptions about alpha hormones and needs and exactly how in or out of control he would be just a short while ago.

Not much made it past the  _Tony was genuinely prepared for me to rape him_ thought block.

The idea of scaring Tony that way, of violating him like that, made Steve physically sick. Words escaped him, but it occurred to him that though he couldn't touch Tony—not now, not until Tony gave him explicit permission—there was something he could do.

Steve concentrated on everything he felt for Tony. He focused on his respect for Tony's boundaries, his complete readiness to wait as long as Tony needed, and transmitted all he could muster through their bond. He knew Tony felt it. He could tell by the step back he took, the flustered look on his face, the surprise Steve felt him give back in return. Steve didn't say anything, just kept  _giving,_ kept pouring himself into their bond until Tony dropped the knife and held up both hands.

" _Stop."_

Steve did so immediately.

"What…" Tony was breathless, like Steve's feelings had physically hit him in the gut. "What was that?"

"That was how I feel."

"No, what the  _fuck,_ that was…that wasn't… _what?"_ Tony was breathing heavily now. "You can't…that's…aren't you…"

"I'll answer anything you want," Steve said gently, "But you have to finish the question."

"You don't want to fuck me?"

"Not like that, Tony." Steve shook his head fiercely.  _"Never_ like that."

Tony stepped back again. He almost stepped on the knife, but picked it up instead. He turned it over in his hands, staring at Steve for a long, interminable moment before he spun around and left the room. Steve felt his leaving like a physical ache, his chest clenching up and his stomach beginning to burn again, but he didn't follow. He knew that Tony didn't want him to.

It was a long time before Tony came back, and when he did, there was no knife and he made a beeline for the electronic he'd abandoned. He picked up where he'd left off, and Steve accepted the silence Tony wanted. It lasted much longer this time, and Steve eventually got off the bed to pick up one of Tony's manuals. It was for a T6 Blackie, and Steve flipped through the pages. He knew a little about motorcycles, enough to at least appreciate it.

"I'm building one." Tony offered. He didn't turn around, but he seemed less tense than before. His shoulders weren't as hunched, his voice not as edgy. "It's coming along pretty well, if you wanted to see it sometime."

Steve recognized a peace offering when he heard one.

"I'd love to." He replaced the manual on the shelf, glancing at the other titles for anything resembling easy reading. "I always loved motorcycles. My dad had one, he used to take me out on it sometimes. Gave my mother a heart attack when she found out."

"What happened to it?"

"He passed. We sold it." Steve shrugged.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's fine. It was a long time ago," Steve said eventually, "He died in combat when I was little. I don't really remember him all that well."

"Oh." Tony watched Steve cautiously for a long moment. Then, he made a scrunched sort of face as he tried to figure something out. Steve could feel Tony carefully probing just the littlest bit into their bond, and he tried not to tense up. Tony didn't seem to discover anything unusual though, just seemed confused by his findings. "You don't miss him, but you wish he was here."

"For my mother," Steve admitted, "I don't remember him, but she misses him every day. I can feel it sometimes when she looks at me a certain way. I guess I look like him."

"You're…" Tony examined his hands. "You're a really good person, Steve. I'm sorry it had to be me."

"For the bond?" Steve was thrown. He blamed his surprise for forgetting to filter his feelings a little better, but if he were being honest, he knew he would've said it either way. Tony should never have to feel like he was anything less than first choice. "Tony, there's no one I'd rather be bonded to. Honestly. I'm glad it's you."

Tony examined him critically. His eyes widened after a beat.

"You mean that."

"Of course I do."

"You're something else, Rogers." Tony shook his head, looking up at Steve with a soft, completely unreadable smile. "But…I'm glad it's you, too."

Tony was a pensive sort of quiet after that, and Steve began struggling his way through a physics book. The silence that fell between them this time was comfortable, and it was in that lull that Steve eventually fell asleep. The book was boring enough to get him to stop thinking, and the pain was dulled enough by the overwhelming scent of  _Tony_ and  _mate_ and something that felt very close to  _home_ that he was able to relax enough to get some rest. He dreamed, but it was vague and slippery, and the only thing he remembered when he woke was that Tony had been there.

It was dark outside now, and Steve's phone read almost nine o'clock. His mother would be worried; he ought to call. He got up, about to hit dial, when he saw Tony, slumped against the bed and snoring softly. The sight made his heart ache, and he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

He knew Tony didn't want to be touched, but he also knew it wasn't this kind of touch Tony was afraid of. Steve quietly got off the bed, crouching next to Tony and picking him up carefully. Tony stirred in his sleep, but it was only to curl into Steve's chest. Everything in him yearned to stay like this, to put Tony on the bed and lie next to him, fall asleep in each other's arms, but he couldn't do that to Tony. Not when Tony had finally started to trust him, just the littlest bit.

He laid Tony on the bed, resisted the urge to kiss his forehead, and stepped out into the hall. His mother wasn't pleased, but after fibbing that Tony's parents were home, she relented and let him stay if he promised to use protection. Not wanting to get into a lengthy discussion about the fact that he and Tony weren't actually together no matter what their biology said, Steve told her what she wanted to hear and hung up.

He went back into Tony's room, snagging a pillow Tony wasn't using and getting comfortable on the floor. It wasn't ideal, and the heat was starting to act up again, but he managed to fall into a restless sleep.

When he woke again it was the middle of the night, and he was in intense, scorching pain. He curled in on himself, clutching his stomach and gasping as he waited for the surge to run its course. It was only a moment before someone grabbed his shoulder, and their touch was like ice; soothing and cooling all once, better than a shot of morphine for the pain.

"Wake up." It was Tony. Steve couldn't see over his shoulder, hadn't even opened his eyes yet, but he knew it was Tony like he knew the sky was blue and grass was green because it was his mate and his mate was touching him and— "Fuck, Steve, come here."

Tony grabbed his wrist next—God, that felt so much better than a casual grab of the wrist had any right to feel—and hauled him onto the bed. Steve, no matter how good it felt, yanked his arm away, an alarm going off in his sleep-addled, pain-fuzzy brain.  _Don't touch._

"Steve, goddamn, just fucking hold me."

Tony grabbed his arm again, pulling it around his waist and rolling over so his back was pressed against Steve's chest. The pain drained away in such a rush it left Steve dizzy. It took a moment before Steve was able to form a coherent thought again, and when he did, it was still more feeling than anything else.

_So good._

He had both arms snug around Tony, the sensation of being this close to him the most powerful drug Steve had ever felt. Tony's hands gripped Steve's arms tightly, but it was to pull him close, not push him away. The fear drenching Tony's side of the bond had receded for now, and Steve could feel Tony's desires like he could feel his own; Tony wanted him to stay. Steve buried his nose in Tony's hair, pulling him closer with a soft, pleased rumble.

Pain gone for the moment, he was able to fall back into a peaceful, easy sleep.

* * *

Tony knew this was bad.

He was going to regret it, there was no way he wasn't. He shouldn't have even let Steve in his room, much less pulled him into bed; it was all a recipe for disaster. He just kept hearing Steve's words on replay in his head, over and over.  _Not like that, Tony. Never like that._ It was a nice sentiment, but it was Steve's voice, so earnest and sincere and fucking wrecked that Tony even thought he would, that had sold him.

He was awake long after Steve fell back to sleep. He contemplated the weight of Steve's arms, the firmness of his grip; Steve was strong. The skinny, gangly boy he'd fallen in love with could now easily throw him over his shoulder without batting an eyelash, could pin him without any trouble at all.

But there was something very dependable about Steve's solidity. The arms around him felt more steadying than forceful, tightened in comfort instead of capture. Tony always viewed someone stronger than him as a threat, but in the dark, no longer quite as lonely space of his room, he could admit that it was hard to continue truly viewing Steve as a threat.

Steve was an over-sized puppy, eager and sweet and completely unaware of his capability to do harm. It wasn't something that  _occurred_ to Steve. Tony would have known that just from the look on Steve's face when he'd finally pieced together what Tony was so wary of, but Steve spilling his emotions into Tony's half of the bond had sealed it; Tony couldn't deny Steve was anything but horrified at the idea, that he wanted anything but for Tony to feel happy and safe and loved. There had been an inkling of suggestion that Steve could be the one who made Tony feel that, but Tony had shouted for Steve to stop and it had all been shut off instantly, like flipping a switch.

Tony couldn't stop thinking about how immediately Steve had listened to him. There had been no space for hesitation or question or even a thought; Steve's response couldn't have been anything but complete and instinctive. But that meant his first response when Tony said something was to do as he asked, and Tony couldn't wrap his mind around that.

Tony shifted in Steve's arms, turning so they faced each other. Steve's arms loosened a little, enough to stroke his wide palms across Tony's back gently. His hold was comfortable and warm, and though Tony was loathe to break it, he had to test something. Steve was asleep, his mind not conscious enough to lie, to deceive, to trick Tony into falling for the big bubbly puppy act.

"Steve, no." Tony said firmly, pressing his hands against Steve's chest and pushing just a bit. He wasn't stronger than Steve, not by a long shot, and he didn't push that hard. Just enough to give him an inch of space or so, and rouse a reaction from Steve.

It couldn't have been nearly enough to send Steve sprawling the way he did, or make him roll away and tumble off the edge of the bed. Even as he hit the floor, Steve threw his hands up and kept scrambling backwards.

"M'sorry, didn't—won't touch, m'sorry," Steve murmured, over and over.

His voice was rough with sleep and his words were a little slurred, but they were infused with too much sincerity for Tony to bear. Steve truly and honestly trusted him. Even deep in sleep, he instinctively believed that Tony was capable of knowing what he wanted. For all Steve had said so, it was that moment that cemented the truth of it in Tony's mind.

"C'mere." Tony scooted closer to the edge of the bed, extending a hand to help Steve back up. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it."

"You said no." Steve didn't take his hand. He looked understandably bewildered, eyes wide with worry and confusion, his hair sleep-mussed and sticking up adorably.

"I was…" Tony shook his head. "It was stupid. Come sleep with me."

"But you said not to." Steve seemed insistent on this. Tony couldn't help a smile.

"I did. And now I'm asking you to." Tony extended his hand a bit further, still open in offering. "Come on. Please?"

"Y'sure?" Steve watched him warily.

"Yes."

"M'kay." Steve accepted his hand and climbed into bed, pulling Tony back into his arms without further hesitation. He nuzzled Tony's hair a minute, before telling him softly, "You smell good. Earthy."

"I smell like dirt?"

"No," Steve insisted, too drowsy to catch Tony's teasing tone, "No, just…natural. Simple. Like home."

"You smell like apple pie," Tony admitted, something about the dark room and tingling sensation of Steve's breath on the back of his neck making him want to. Steve gave a rumbling groan in response that Tony felt all the way down to his bones.

"My mom keeps buying me this weird body wash. I keep telling her it makes me smell like baked goods, but she insists it's unscented."

"Definitely apple pie," Tony told him, then after a beat, "Which is, I mean, it's not…it's good. You should keep using it."

"M'kay, Tony." Steve nodded agreeably.

"I'm keeping you up. I'll stop talking."

"Don't mind." The arms around him shifted, tugged him closer. "Like your voice."

"My voice?"

"'s a good voice. Very…"

"Sarcastic?"

"Smooth. Confident."

"You're strange," Tony decided.

"Maybe. But I think you like it." Steve's breath ghosted over his ear. "Tony?"

It took Tony a minute to find the air to respond.

"Yeah?"

"Do you?"

"Do I what?"

"Like it. Me."

This was such a bad idea.

"Yeah, Steve," Tony admitted. The words were soft and small in the suddenly vast darkness of the room. "I like you."

"Hard to tell, sometimes."

"Sorry."

"'s fine. Best things in life are worth the effort it takes to get 'em."

"Trying to make me yours, Rogers?"

"Want you to want to be mine," Steve murmured cryptically into Tony's neck.

"Might take a while." Tony ignored the fluttery, terrifying part of him, the part of him laughing at all of his lines and defenses and false confidence. The part of him that knew it might not take very long at all.

"Good thing 'm patient."

"What if it takes years?"

"Then it takes years."

"You'd wait?"

"You're my soulmate." Steve's lips were feather-soft against his neck, not quite a kiss, but not quite anything else. "Course I'd wait."


	9. Chapter 9

Steve woke up when Tony left his arms.

It was a strange feeling, like one of his body parts had decided to get up and walk away, but Steve curled his fingers tightly to stop himself from pulling Tony back like he wanted to. Last night had been good, a large step forward for which Steve was immensely grateful, but not enough that he could go around manhandling Tony without spooking him.

Tony slid out of Steve's arms, and Steve didn't do anything more than brush his fingers against Tony's wrist. Touching seemed to be okay now, at least, he hoped so. He'd asked a good three times after Tony had pushed him away last night, and Tony had seemed very certain that he was alright with it.

"Hungry?" Tony offered with a yawn.

Steve couldn't do anything but stare.

Tony was gorgeous in the morning light, hair mussed with sleep like he hadn't combed it in years, a sleepy, easy compliance to his expression Steve had never seen from him before. He rubbed at his eyes a bit before giving another, somewhat squeaky-sounding yawn. He reminded Steve of a kitten, all languid stretching and adorable faces.

"What?"

"I asked if you were hungry. You know, food?" Tony raised an eyebrow at him. Steve's stomach rumbled in answer, and wow, yes, he was starving. He felt a bit embarrassed at the noise, but Tony just laughed. "I'm going to take that as a yes."

Tony rolled over, grabbing his phone and hitting a button.

"It's…oh. We can't go down for another hour. You're not gonna rebel and go cannibal on me, are you?"

"I think I'll manage to restrain myself." Steve rolled onto his back with a huff of laughter. "Why can't we go downstairs?"

"It's, uh." Tony paused, and Steve turned his head to glance back at him. He was fiddling with his phone now. "Nothing. Just—"

"You don't have to talk about it." Steve decided it was far too early in the morning for anxiety like that to be clouding Tony's features. He rolled over, leaning off the bed to reach into the cooler. "Want some water? I'm crazy thirsty."

"Yeah." Tony nodded, giving him a long, examining sort of look.

Steve tossed him a water before grabbing one for himself. He wasn't just covering a clearly an uncomfortable subject; he really was thirsty, and he definitely remembered the nurse saying to stay hydrated.

"I'm gonna grab a shower." Tony stood, stretching his back until it popped before hunting down some clean clothes. "You can dig through my closet while you wait if you want, see if anything'll fit you, but I don't know if you'll find much. You're kind of..." Tony stretched his arms out.

"Broad-shouldered?"

"I was going to say linebacker-y, but that works." Tony chuckled. "There's a spare toothbrush in the cabinet, and you can use my stuff for whatever else you need."

"Thanks, Tony."

"Don't mention it. It's my fault you're stuck here anyway."

"That's not true." Steve shook his head. "I could leave. It'd hurt a little, but we'd be fine. I'm here by choice, Tony. For as long as you'll let me be."

Tony watched him carefully for a long minute before breaking into a smile and disappearing into the bathroom.

Steve went through Tony's closet and only came up with one option, a band shirt for a band Steve hadn't heard of. None of the pants fit, but his jeans could be re-worn, so he was alright. Tony came out squeaky clean and wearing fresh clothes in a matter of minutes, and Steve tried not to take too long either. When he eventually came out, Tony startled badly and dropped his water bottle.

"Jesus motherfucking Christ."

"Um." Steve blinked. "Something wrong?"

"Did you  _paint_ that on?"

"What?" Steve glanced down. "The shirt?"

"That's now officially yours forever no takebacks."

"I don't even know who the Radioheads are, why would you give it to me?"

"First, it's Radiohead, singular. Second, that's blasphemy, I'll have to teach you. Third, because anyone but you wearing that shirt is a sin, Rogers, and I won't have it."

"Uh, okay." Steve figured it was easier not to argue. Plus, the shirt smelled like Tony.

"I am in for so much more than I bargained for," Tony muttered.

"What?"

"Uh, nothing. I said have a water." Tony diverted, tossing him one. "You're supposed to drink ten glasses a day during a heat. Usually I drink like fifteen without even noticing, but I haven't felt bad like that since you showed up. I'm not overheated or uncomfortable, either. Are you?"

Steve thought about it, probed into his part of the bond, but couldn't come up with much. There were still the inklings of desire in there somewhere, but it was buried by Tony's proximity. He was content like this, sitting here on the bed with Tony, talking comfortably, admiring the way the light brought out the brighter streaks in Tony's hair and made his eyes a little more hazel.

"No. I'm fine." Steve smiled.

"So what else did Hill say?"

"Pardon?"

"The nurse? You said you saw her yesterday. She's a ball-buster, but she knows her stuff."

"Oh. Yeah, uh…proximity was the big one. Lots of water, sleep a lot, don't take any medication, avoid direct—"

"Oh  _fuck."_ Tony's eyes went wide, and he scooted off the bed to paw through his desk.

"What?"

"Hold on."

Tony waved him off impatiently, fiddling with something in his desk, pulling out the false bottom of the last drawer and digging into it. Steve leaned off the bed to get a look; there were at least ten pill bottles, all white with a little purple banner, declaring  _Pherex._ Tony pulled one out, turning it around to read the label.

"Tony, tell me you read the label before taking this stuff."

"Of course I did," Tony snapped, then, backtracking, "Well, okay, I read the dosage information."

" _Tony—"_

"Yeah, so, I may have figured out why I'm a month and a half ahead of schedule." Tony winced.

"Let me see?"

Tony tossed him a bottle. Steve scanned over the information until he found what he was looking for, highlighted in bright red.

_Not omega compliant. Reactions can include mood swings, irritability, and heat cycle disruptions._

"You didn't even look at the OCI warnings?" Steve gaped at him. "Tony, this could've killed you!"

Certain drugs affected omegas differently; some that were harmless to alphas and betas could be anything from annoying to fatal for omegas. Some just disrupted their cycles, others could cause internal bleeding, irreparable system damage, and even death if the body reacted too strongly or they weren't treated in time. The FDA had passed a law back in the 80's that required all FDA-approved drugs to list omega compliancy issues, or OCI warnings, on the label.

"How do you know about OCI's?" Tony frowned at him.

"It came up in my research."

"What research?"

"Tony, you're the first omega I've ever met, and now we're bonded for the rest of our lives. Don't tell me you wouldn't want to find out as much information as you could if the situation were reversed."

"Don't fucking  _google_ me, just ask—"

"I googled omegas, not you, and I  _can't_ ask. Every time I do you freeze up and glare at me like wanting to understand you means I want to stuff you in a box and tattoo 'omega' on your forehead."

Tony gave a twitchy little frown, and huffed a sigh.

"I'm working on it." He scowled at his bare feet. "The defensiveness thing. I know it doesn't seem like it. But. I am. If you wanted…if you still had questions, I could answer a few?"

"You don't have to, Tony."

"I know." Tony shot him a quirked smile. "That's why I want to."

"Alright." Steve smiled back, patting the bed. "You gonna come back up, or what?"

"Yeah." Tony gestured with his hand. "Toss back the bottle, would you? I can't leave this stuff lying around."

Steve complied, already thinking about what he wanted to ask. If Tony was really willing to answer some questions, he didn't care about omega information in general. He could find that anywhere, and he felt like he'd already covered the basics anyway. He wanted to know about Tony.

"When did you know?"

"That I was an omega?" Tony dropped the bottles back in, replacing the false bottom. "Sixth grade. I showed the same way everyone else did, just got a different ending. I started leaking pheromones in the middle of third period, and before the end of fourth I got called into the principal's office to discuss my academic future at the Institute."

"Institute?"

"Yeah." Tony scratched the back of his head a bit awkwardly, climbing back onto the bed. His knee bumped Steve's as he sat cross-legged, but neither of them moved. "I used to go to Xavier's Institute for Higher Learning. Fancy schmancy boarding school Howard sent me to, until I showed."

Howard must be his father. Steve thought it was odd Tony called his father by his first name, but decided it was probably better not to comment.

"What happened?"

"They couldn't technically revoke my acceptance for it." Tony shrugged. "It's illegal. But they pressured Howard about it, and he pulled me out. He only sent me to the Institute because he wanted me to be his legacy anyway, and that didn't really matter anymore."

"Why not?"

"You know what he does, right?" Tony gave him a measured look. Steve nodded; everyone knew of StarkIndustries, the number one weapons manufacturer in the country, and Howard Stark, its ruthless and brilliant CEO. "I can't own a company. Legally, it'd go to my…well, it'd be yours. And no way in hell Howard's letting an outsider touch SI."

"Laws change all the time." Steve glanced down. Tony's hand was just inches from his own. He wanted to take it, but wasn't sure where that fell in the spectrum of what was and wasn't allowed now. "Maybe you could still take over, someday. If you wanted to."

"Maybe." Tony didn't seem as optimistic. "Not like it matters, anyway. Even if the law changed, Howard wouldn't let me."

"Why not?"

"He's an old school conservative." Tony shrugged, but it was stiff. "He pays the party more than a million dollars a year to keep those very laws in place."

"What?" Steve was aghast. "But, your mother, you said she was—?"

"She doesn't care. She liked it, at first. There are…well, the way she saw it, there were benefits. They view omegas as their property, but they take good care of their property. She liked the idea of belonging to someone, of being taken care of by some charismatic alpha inventor with enough money to make all her dreams come true. And they were soulmates, so I mean…she didn't have much choice, anyway."

"I suppose." Steve worried his bottom lip between his teeth. He didn't like it.

If Tony's father was a conservative, it explained how defensive Tony could be. Steve couldn't imagine what it felt like to have your own parent believe you were a second class citizen, that you were somehow worth less than before because of some silly pheromones. Yet here Tony was; he believed in himself, was confident and assured and self-reliant, and Steve couldn't imagine how hard he'd had to fight to stay like that in the face of his own father's discrimination. He wanted to ask what that must have been like, but got that the feeling that wasn't something he could ask outright.

"He was ready to have you take over the company, and he just…gave up?"

"Pretty much." Tony shifted uncomfortably. "Having his son turn out to be an omega didn't change his opinions about them. Just about me."

"You know he's wrong." Steve frowned, leaning forward. Their fingers slid closer. "Right? All of it. I've been…it came up, when I was doing the research? Their manifesto, their propaganda, their beliefs, all of it. It's wrong, Tony. You have to know that."

"Been telling myself that since I was thirteen." A sliver of a smile inched across Tony's lips. "Nice to hear someone else say it though."

"I mean it," Steve insisted fiercely, "It's bullshit."

"I think that's maybe the second time I've ever heard you swear." Tony looked amused. "It looks like you have to fight just to get the word out."

"My mom washes my mouth out with soap if I swear in the house," Steve admitted, "It's hard habit to break."

"Wait, wash _es?"_ Tony broke into a grin. "Not washed?"

"Well…" Steve scrubbed a hand over his face in embarrassment.

"But you're seventeen!" Tony seemed delighted at this information. "Even for like a 'hell', or a 'crap'?"

"She says it's rude." Steve flushed.

"Man, she'd hate me." Tony chuckled, but Steve shook his head immediately.

"That's not true. She thinks you're great."

"Thinks?"

"I, uh." Steve gulped. He probably shouldn't mention he'd been going on about Tony since he was fifteen. "She could smell I was taken when I came home after the party. I may have told her a bit about you."

"What'd you tell her?" Tony seemed genuinely curious.

"Just…about you."

"What about me?"

"Basics."

"And what are my basics?"

Yesterday, Tony would probably have been trying to find out if Steve had told his mom about Tony being an omega. Would have been upset if he had, offended if he hadn't. Today though, Tony just seemed to be genuinely curious, a bit teasing.

"I said you're a guy in my History class."

"That's all?" Tony looked disappointed.

"There may have been some further discussion." Steve could feel himself blush, but there wasn't much to be done about it. "Not that it's any of your business."

"It's about me, I think that counts as my business." Tony tapped his leg, his fingers dancing just a bit closer.

"And  _I_ think you're just being nosy."

"Maybe a little."

"The word stubborn came up quite a bit."

"Rude. You didn't tell her about my dashing good looks?"

"I said you were vain, does that count?" Steve teased, and Tony snorted.

"Lies." Tony checked his phone. "I need caffeine, and it's after nine now. Still want that breakfast?"

"Definitely." Steve nodded, and they got off the bed.

"I can't really cook," Tony admitted as they left the room. Steve, immediately lost in the enormous mansion, just followed Tony's lead. "But we can microwave some waffles, and there might be leftovers—"

"I can cook."

"You can cook?" Tony raised a disbelieving eyebrow.

"Yes." Steve chuckled. "Why's that hard to believe?"

"I don't know. You just seem very…" Tony waved a hand at his general existence. "Manly."

"Cooking can be manly."

"Prove it."

"You're on. What do you want?"

"Bacon and eggs. With a buttload of syrup."

"On your eggs?"

"Yes."

"That's really gross, Tony."

"Hey, no arguing, you asked what I wanted—"

"I didn't think you'd ignore the laws of breakfast food—"

"What  _laws,_ you food snob, there are no laws—"

"There are, and I distinctly remember one of them being about how putting syrup on eggs is strange and unnatural—"

" _You're_ strange and unnatural." Tony shoved him, but he was grinning. "Shut up and cook for me, jerk."

"Well, when you flatter me like that, how can I say no?" Steve rolled his eyes as they entered the kitchen. "Where're your pans?"

"I'm going to sound like a spoiled little rich boy when I say this." Tony made a face. "But I don't actually know where anything but the waffles are. And the coffee."

"Why do I get the feeling that's all you live off of?" Steve sighed.

"Probably because it is." Tony went straight into the pantry for coffee beans, while Steve went about looking for supplies.

The kitchen was large and state of the art, all white granite counters and stainless steel. The cupboards were well-organized, and it didn't take him long to find what he was looking for. He dumped things on the large island counter as he found them: bowls, a cutting board, a knife—might've been the same one from yesterday, actually—pans, cooking spray, a whisk. It took him a while to realize Tony was staring at him.

"What?"

"Nothing." Tony shook his head. He leaned against the counter that held the coffeemaker, arms crossed, observing Steve like he was some kind of new species. "I just didn't know eggs and bacon were so…complicated."

"Oh, they're not, I could make that with a pan and some cooking spray." Steve shifted a bit awkwardly. "Do you want it simple? I just thought you might like—"

"No, hey, you do your thing." Tony waved him on. "Forget I'm here. Go on, show me your manly cooking skills."

Steve rolled his eyes, opening the fridge next. He dug around a bit, pulling out the necessary ingredients, along with some cheese, onions, spinach—

"Okay, I lied, stop forgetting I'm here, why is there a vegetable on the counter? Are you trying to feed me vegetables, Steve? I didn't ask for vegetables, vegetables are gross—"

"They're not that bad—"

"They definitely are, who even eats vegetables for breakfast? You think  _I'm_ weird, vegetables for breakfast is weird—"

"It's a part of the omelet, Tony, calm down."

"Why would I want spinach in my omelet?"

"Because it tastes good. Besides, it's good for you." Steve put it aside to chop up after he finished whisking the milk and eggs.

"That's how you grew six feet over the summer, isn't it?" Tony narrowed his eyes, hissing the word, _"Vegetables."_

"Well, if you don't eat them and I do, it would explain why you're so—"

"If you say short, Rogers, I swear to god I will kick you out, heat or no heat."

"—compact." Steve finished innocently.

"Cute word for short," Tony grumbled.

"Pretty much," Steve grinned.

"You never answered my question, you know." Tony hopped up on one of the stools across the counter from Steve, cradling his cup of coffee like it was precious.

"Which one?" Steve asked as he poured the egg mix into the pan.

"The first one, the day we met."

"Yes I did."

"No you didn't."

"It's not my fault you weren't listening." Steve shrugged, biting down on a smile.

"Come on, admit it. You think I'm cute. Good cute."

"Is there a bad cute?"

"Well, yeah." Tony gulped down some of his still piping hot coffee. "I don't want to be thought of as some damn puppy."

"Yes, kittens are much better." Steve joked dryly, thinking of how adorably ruffled Tony still looked.

"What was that?"

"Nothing." Steve felt his ears go pink. Had he said that out loud?

"I distinctly heard the word 'kitten'."

"I said we're in the kitchen."

"You're telling me that when I said not to think of me as a puppy, you responded with 'we're in the kitchen'."

"Um. Yes."

"You're a  _horrible_ liar."

"Hey—"

"No, really, your face does this twitchy thing like your body is physically rejecting the lie—"

"That's not true—"

"It's  _totally_ true. You can't lie worth a damn, Rogers."

"I can too, I told all my friends last Friday was—" Steve shut up immediately.

That was not a good road.

"Finish the sentence." Tony eyed him curiously.

"No."

"Rogers."

"Nope."

"Steve."

"How do you like your bacon?" Was his voice squeaky, or was that just him?

"Crispy as it gets and don't change the subject."

"What subject, there's no subject—"

"Last Friday. What'd you lie to them about?"

"I don't want to talk about this, Tony."

"Why not?"

"Because I don't."

"I'm not gonna get  _mad—"_

"It's embarrassing, could you drop it please?"

"Why's it embarrassing?"

"You're not going to let it go, are you?"

"Nope." Tony popped the p. "And you're stuck with me for another three days, so I mean, hey, if you think you can put up with me pestering you that long…"

"Itoldthemitwasaverage."

"You what?"

"Bucky wanted details and I didn't want to give him details so I said it was just, you know, normal, average, whatever I had to so he'd leave me alone, and he believed me." Steve focused very intently on the egg he was frying.

"But it was a lie."

"Of  _course_  it was a lie."Steve refused to look away from his egg. It was a very important egg. It might burn if he looked away, obviously. It had nothing to do with the fact that he was pretty sure his face had shot right past pink and into something closer to magenta.

"So it was better than average."

"Shut up, Tony—"

"No, really." Tony's voice was serious. "I mean, the ending fucking sucked, but before that. I know it was your first time, I wanted…I tried to make it good, but I didn't get a chance to ask if I succeeded."

"You have to  _ask?"_

"I don't know," Tony mumbled into his coffee.

"Jesus, Tony, yes," Steve told the bacon, "It was…I don't know, I mentioned wow somewhere in there, didn't I?"

"You did."

"If it helps your ego, when Bucky suggested it was boring I inhaled orange juice through my nose."

"Well." Steve turned, and now that he knew what to look for, he could see the faint pink creeping up the back of Tony's neck. "That's, uh. That's good, great, that's great. That it was, uh, great. For you, and me. Because it was. For me, great. Too."

Tony looked like he was only narrowly resisting the urge to bang his head on the counter.

"Glad we agree." Steve swallowed carefully, turning back around to flip the omelet, adding a bit of salt.

"Yep." Tony gulped down the rest of his mug. "God I need more caffeine."

"Here." Steve slid the omelet off the pan and onto a plate, quickly following it with the bacon and passing it across the counter to Tony. "Have something to eat first."

"'Something to eat', he says as he serves me culinary perfection." Tony stared down at his plate in wonder. "How did you do that?"

"Do what?" Steve turned to search through the drawers for silverware.

"Make spinach look  _not_ disgusting?" Tony poked it with a finger. "Third drawer from the right."

"Thanks." Steve picked out two sets, passing one to Tony. "And there's a lot of cheese involved."

"I can see that." Tony accepted the silverware, starting to cut up his omelet. "The syrup's in the pantry, grab it for me?"

"Tony, you're not putting syrup on this," Steve told him decisively, serving up a plate for himself.

"Rude, don't discriminate—"

"I'm not discriminating against syrup." Steve rolled his eyes. "I like syrup. On normal things, like pancakes, and waffles. Not on a spinach omelet."

"Heathen."

"Eat."

Tony made a face at him, but took a bite anyway.

"Mother of god."

"Good?"

"What the fuck did you put in this, pixie dust?"

"Do you usually stock pixie dust in your kitchen?"

"Fuck if I know what we keep around." Tony waved a hand at him. "Stop talking, I'm savoring."

"Sure, Tony." Steve laughed, sliding into the seat next to him and digging into his own.

They ate in amicable silence, aside from Tony's pleased moans at the food and Steve's uncomfortable shifting as he tried to ignore how familiar the sounds Tony was making were.

"So how much would it cost to get you to quit school and come be my full-time personal chef?" Tony asked when he'd finished.

"I'm not that good." Steve rubbed a hand across the back of his neck awkwardly. "Anything tastes great compared to frozen waffles."

"Whatever you have to tell yourself." Tony took his plate, dumping it in the sink. "Guess I'll just have to abuse the privilege while you're here."

"Feel free." Steve stood, taking his own plate over as well. "You mentioned you were building a T6, yesterday. Still want to show me?"

"Yeah, definitely. Now?"

"If you don't mind?"

"Hell no, come on."

Tony led him through a maze of corridors and down into a basement area overrun with computers and workstations and tools, too much for Steve to hope to identify. A mechanical arm grasped Steve's shirt, and Tony turned to wave a finger.

"Stop it, Dum-E, leave him alone."

"I didn't touch it, it touched me," Steve protested. There was no need to call him names, honestly—

"I was talking to Dum-E, actually." Tony laughed. "That's his name, the bot? Dum-E. Just ignore him, he's very touchy-feely."

"Of course you named your super advanced robotic arm Dummy." Steve couldn't help a smile, and he patted Dum-E on its head. "Hi, Dummy."

"That one's You—" Tony pointed out two more. "—and that's Butterfingers."

"Hello." Steve waved.

"You're ridiculous," Tony grabbed him by the shirtsleeve and tugged him along with an eye roll and a fond smile.

They spent almost three hours in the basement, admiring the bike and eventually getting their hands dirty working on the engine together. Tony knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than he did, but Steve knew enough to keep up, and Tony seemed alright slowing down enough to keep pace with him. They talked about a lot of things, ran across the board from motorcycles to Tony's affinity for anything he could put together with his hands to Steve's inability to put down a pencil for long and before Steve knew it he was promising to show Tony his sketchbook sometime.

"If you want." Steve twisted one of the gears. He'd have to find a notebook without Tony in it, but he was sure he had one somewhere. "I mean, it's alright if you're not interested, art isn't everyone's thing—"

"Steve, I've been trying to catch a peek at that damn notebook of yours since freshman year, hell yeah I want to see." Tony was under the bike, reattaching a part, and though Steve froze, Tony didn't seem to realize what he'd just said.

Since freshman year?

"Tony?" Steve paused in his adjustments to lean back, try and catch Tony's eye.

"Yeah?"

"Didn't we only meet a few months ago?"

"Yeah, why—" There was a loud clang as Tony dropped his wrench. "Oh. Fuck. I can explain."

Steve waited.

"Okay, I can't explain."

"You noticed me before we met." Before he shot up six feet and grew muscles and became someone Tony would want. Or at least, so he'd thought.

"Freshman year." Tony slid out from under the bike with a sigh. "It's not as creepy as it sounds, you were just always drawing and I really wanted to know what. It became kind of a game, how many times I could get up to walk by your seat before I got yelled at. It didn't matter anyway, because every time I got close enough to catch a glimpse, you stopped."

Steve remembered that. Remembered the way his skin felt like it was on fire every time Tony walked by, remembered wondering why Tony felt like causing trouble in that particular way. He remembered assuming Tony had a crush on the girl next to him, Janet, and wishing it'd stop so Steve could be left to admire from afar in peace without having Tony dangled in front of him like a lure, pretty but untouchable.

"That was for me?"

"Well, that's, I mean, you could put it that way—"

"I thought you liked Janet." Steve blurted. "I was  _convinced_ you liked her, lost ten bucks betting her you'd ask her out by the end of the year."

"Guess I owe you ten bucks. I hated Janet."

"Why?"

"She could  _see."_ Tony scowled. "I offered her everything from money to my first born child to switch seats with me, or at least tell me what it was you were drawing _,_  but she always said no."

"Why did you even care?" Steve was having trouble remembering how to breathe.

"You just looked so…focused." Tony tilted his head to the side, trying to phrase it better. "Intense. It's kind of stupid, but I thought you looked like I do when I get buried in a project, like the outside world just doesn't matter. I wanted to know what was so important."

_You._

It was on the tip of his tongue. But Tony was in such a good mood, and Steve couldn't be sure how long that would last. He didn't want to ruin it by forcing his feelings. He could tell that Tony was warming up to him, but pushing for too much too fast would only make Tony push back, and hard.

"It wasn't important, just, you know. Scenery. Doodles. Some people."

"Ever drawn me?"

"Might've," Steve admitted, "It was kind of a challenge. Trying to draw you was like trying to pin down a hummingbird, you were always moving."

"I could sit still." Tony sat up, leaning forward a bit eagerly. "If you still wanted to draw me."

"Yeah." Steve tried to stay calm and not to do anything silly like hyperventilate over the fact that he'd been dreaming of Tony offering to sit and let him draw him since the ninth grade. "Sure."


	10. Chapter 10

Tony had no idea what he was doing.

He was, generally speaking, a pretty confident person. He didn't really think about the way he looked or the expressions his face made or the way he angled his body when he walked or talked or whatever. So why was he thinking about it so much now?

"Just relax, Tony." Steve was giving him one of those irritating, mind-reader smiles, and Tony scowled.

"I  _am_ relaxed."

"You know your muscles look different when you tense up, right?" Steve just smiled amusedly down at the notebook Tony had found him, brushing some eraser marks off.

"What'd you erase?"

"Just a line I messed up—"

"It's cause I moved, shit, I'll stop—"

"Tony." Steve pinned him with a look. "I'm not sure you could stop moving if someone tied you down."

"I don't care what anyone says, Rogers." Tony made a face. "You're a jerk."

"A jerk that'll throw his eraser at your forehead if you don't stop twitching so much." Steve chuckled. "Just relax. Work on the engine, or something else if you want. Forget I'm here."

Yeah, like that was going to happen. Tony tried to lose himself in the mechanics of his bike, but it was impossible. Steve was watching him so intently, finally directing all of the profound focus Tony had admired for so long on  _him,_ and he couldn't help feeling inadequate. Like if he let Steve stare at him long enough, he'd pick Tony apart, find all the flaws and failings and imperfections Tony was so good at disguising. Like he might realize exactly what he'd been stuck with.

Offering to let Steve draw him had been a bad idea, but how could Tony resist? He'd wished so many times Steve would turn all that focus, all that energy, on him. He hadn't told Steve the entire truth about their freshman biology class. He hadn't mentioned that a lot of the walking by Steve's desk had been in the vain hope that maybe he'd catch Steve's interest, maybe wiggle his way onto the pages of Steve's notebook somehow. He'd just wanted—

"Dum-E, goddamn it, leave him alone." Tony chucked his wrench at Dum-E, who was pulling on Steve's shirt again. He gave a sad little beep, but Tony wasn't buying it. "Don't you beep like that at me. Steve doesn't want to play, go play with You and Butterfingers—"

"Who says I don't want to play with him?" Steve just laughed. "Can he fetch?"

"Well, I guess, but you don't have to—"

"Whoops." Steve tossed his eraser a little ways. "Darn. Could you get that for me, Dum-E?"

Dum-E beeped excitedly, happy to be of use, skittering off after the eraser. Tony stared, first at his eager little bot, then at Steve's abashed smile. He did his best to ignore the absolutely ridiculous way his heart felt like it was going to swell and burst right out of his chest. That was probably a medical condition. He should get that looked at. Definitely.

"You're actually playing with him."

"He's cute." Steve chuckled as Dum-E handed him back his eraser, only for Steve to 'drop' it again.

"He's a mechanical arm."

"Still cute. Kind of like a puppy."

"He has faulty coding," Tony said dismissively.

"He's your favorite, isn't he?" Steve glanced up at him knowingly.

"Stop giving him ideas," Tony warned Steve before wagging a finger at Dum-E, "You are not a favorite, you are a tragedy."

"Don't listen to him, Dum-E." Steve patted Dum-E's head. "You're his favorite. He just uses words like 'tragedy' and 'jerk' to convey affection. I know, he's strange. But what can you do?"

"Stop  _conspiring_ with my bot!" Tony sputtered. Jerk was  _not_ a term of affection, thank you very much. Steve was a jerk. A legitimate, complete and total jerk.

"What was that, Dum-E? Tony talked about me during freshman year?"

"I did  _not—"_

"You think he had a crush on me, huh?"

"This is ridiculous, I refuse to be a part of this, Dum-E can't even talk—"

"Oh, he  _definitely_ had a crush on me, I see."

"You don't speak robot, Steve!" Tony firmly ignored how hot the back of his neck was getting.

"You're right, Dum-E, Tony's very silly. It's probably why I had a crush on him too. He looked like such a goofball, always walking by my desk and getting in trouble just to impress Janet."

"I was  _not_ trying to impre—" Tony blinked. "You did?"

"This is a private conversation, Tony, hush." Steve waved a hand at him, turning back to Dum-E. "He always thinks everything's about him, honestly."

"You are the most ridiculous person I've ever met in my life."

"He also exaggerates a lot. Doesn't he, Dum-E?"

Dum-E made an agreeable beeping noise.

"Stop it, you traitor." Tony threw a screwdriver at Dum-E. "Steve's mine, leave him alone."

Dum-E whirred and buzzed and rolled off at last, and Tony stuck his tongue out in the bot's absence. When Tony looked back at Steve, he looked inordinately pleased, a wide, goofy-looking smile stretched across his features.

"What?" Tony narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What now?"

"Nothing." Steve quickly returned to his notebook. "Just got a line right, that's all."

"Sure you did." Tony didn't buy it for a second. "Just like I totally didn't have a crush on you freshman year."

Or sophomore year. Or now.

"Exactly." The corner of Steve's mouth quirked up just a bit, a little curl of hidden amusement, and Tony wanted nothing more in the world than to kiss that quirk right off his lips.

"How long can you stay, anyway?" Tony asked after a beat instead.

"I'm not sure yet." Steve sighed, rubbing his forehead before erasing something. "My mom knows I spent the night at your place, but she thinks your parents were here, and I'm sure she thinks I'm at school right now."

"My parents were here." Tony gave him a funny look, grabbing a rag to wipe the grease off his hands. "Well, are. My mom still is anyway, Howard's at work."

"What?" Steve's eyes widened a bit. "And they're okay just…leaving us alone?"

"Well, they don't know you're here. Howard doesn't come near me when I'm in heat." Tony rubbed the rag over his hands a little harder than necessary. "Thinks it's disgusting. And my mom never leaves her floor for anything but events and trips. Your mom let you stay over knowing I'm in heat?"

"She doesn't know you're an omega."

"Is she not going to like us being bonded?" Tony winced. He knew that wasn't a nice surprise for a parent. Certainly hadn't been for Howard.

"Oh, she's not going to like it alright." Steve made a face. "But not for the reason you think. She's always going on about how I should just ask someone out, about how no one would say no because I'm so  _nice,_ like anyone cares about nice; I'm pretty sure when I tell her I've managed to get a soulmate and I'm still not in a relationship, she's going to disown me."

"People care about nice." Tony looked at his hands instead of Steve. "I care about nice. Nice is…nice is good."

"'Nice' is a  _nice_  word for boring," Steve muttered.

"Not always." Tony continued examining his hands instead of Steve. "Nice can also mean honest. Genuine. Dependable. Nice people are easier to…to believe in, to trust."

Sure, Steve teased him and Tony called him a jerk, but that didn't change the fact that Steve was a genuinely nice person. Steve's niceness, his  _goodness,_ was the only reason Tony didn't still have a knife stashed under his bed. Was the only reason he'd been able to let Steve help him through the heat wave last night without having a panic attack the minute Steve's arms closed around him. He'd felt…safe. He still did. It was stupid, of course, he didn't need Steve to feel safe, he could cover his own ass thank you very much, but…Steve's easy,  _nice_ nature just made it okay somehow. Okay to relax, to not worry about height differences and weight ratios and what the nearest escape route was.

Steve had sat next to him at breakfast, their shoulders and knees bumped together at the island counter, and Tony hadn't even realized it until afterwards. He was in heat for fuck's sake, the idea of an alpha being that close should've triggered every defense he had, but nothing had happened. Steve hadn't even looked like he was struggling. If there was a part of Steve that wanted to take Tony that way, Steve himself had no idea. No one could be that good of an actor, so casual and easy and  _nice._

Nice was definitely good.

"You trust me?" Steve was watching him carefully. There was hope clearly visible in his features.

"Getting there." Tony bluffed, unwilling to let Steve know just how quickly he was already losing this battle he had with himself. "Why don't you call your mom, figure out what you want to do? You can stay here if you want, my parents won't know, but if you don't want to that's fine too, I've handled it alone before—"

"I want to," Steve assured him, "I'm just trying to figure out a way to do that without telling my mom you're an omega."

"Should I be offended?" Tony raised an eyebrow.

"No, and I can't tell you how glad I am you're asking now." Steve smiled. "But you have to understand, if I tell her you're an omega, she'll know you're my soulmate, and she's going to not only make me come home immediately with you in tow so she can meet you, but she's also going to hug you within an inch of your life and interrogate you until she knows everything from your favorite color to your blood type and want you over for dinner every other night and meet your parents and—"

"Not the last one," Tony said quietly, "But the rest of it, it sounds…nice."

Though he knew Steve was exaggerating, he couldn't help imagining the scene anyway. Imagining what it would be like if Steve did bring him home, if his mom did interrogate him. Maybe she'd caution him against breaking Steve's heart, and he could hear Steve say  _mo-om_ in that embarrassed, drawn-out tone of voice he always heard kids using on TV. Maybe she really would ask him to stay for dinner. He tried to imagine Steve's mom, enthusiastic and doting and maybe a little pushy, but kind above all else, just like her son.

"Nice." Steve gave a wry laugh. "The Rogers trademark."

"Nice is good." Tony reiterated with a smile. "You sound like you're close?"

Steve had talked about her a bit before. He got this expression on his face, a little embarrassed, but definitely fond. Steve's dad wasn't around anymore, so Tony supposed it made sense that they would be close. His own mother had never been…like that. She hadn't been cold to him, but she hadn't been warm, either. Things had been better before he'd shown, but even back then she'd always reminded him of a shadow, a ghost. Something present, but transparent; nothing he could hold on to or depend on.

"Yeah. We are. I don't…" Steve dropped his gaze. "I don't usually lie to her."

"So stop." Tony tried to make his shrug look easy, casual. Like he wasn't desperately hoping Steve had really meant what he'd said. "If she wants to meet me, or something, we could go. I have a car, and I don't, uh, mind."

"You want to meet my mom?"

"Only if she wants to, obviously, or whatever, we don't  _have_ to go if she's ambivalent, I mean, it's not like I care—"

"Tony, she already wants to meet you. If I tell her we're soulmates, she's going to start calling you her son." Tony gave a snort of disbelief, and Steve shook his head. "No, really. I'm not kidding. Are you sure?"

"Yeah." Tony shrugged casually, in spite of the nerves already coiling in his chest. "Sure I'm sure."

What if she didn't like him? What if she didn't think he was worthy of Steve? God,  _he_ didn't think he was worthy of Steve, of  _course_ Steve's mom wouldn't think he was, this was a bad idea, he should—

"Hey, Mom?"

Too late to back out now.

"Yeah, I'm—I know I should be in class—no, I'm not on a break, I—Mom, it's fine, I'm—what? No, I'm not doing drugs—I  _know_ what the statistics say, but not everyone skipping school does it to smoke marijuana, I'm with Tony, he's— _Mom!"_  Steve's voice hit an interesting pitch, and he turned away from Tony, his face already pink. "That's  _not_ what we're doing. We're not even skipping, we have leave, he's—yes, heat leave, Mom, Tony's an omega."

Tony could hear Steve's mom's shriek from across the room.

" _And you didn't_ tell  _me?"_

"I was getting to it—" Steve winced.

" _Steven Grant Rogers—!"_

Grant, huh?

"I know, I know, I'm coming home—yes, Mom, I'll bring him with me, we'll be there in twenty minu— what? He has a car— _yes,_ he has a license, I wouldn't let him drive me illegally—I  _told_ you, we're not skipping, and even if we were, that doesn't make us criminals _—no!_ I'm not—Mom, I'm not asking him that, stop—Mom, I'm hanging up now—yes, I'm seriously not asking—goodbye, Mom."

Steve clicked his phone shut, turning to Tony with a sigh. "Sorry."

"Edward."

"What?"

"Grant." Tony gestured to Steve, then to himself. "Edward."

"You could hear that?" Steve winced.

"Would've been pretty hard not to." Tony just laughed. "She thinks we're criminals?"

"Pot-smoking, sex-crazed criminals." Steve rubbed his forehead. "She grew up in the 70's. I can't eat a brownie without her being convinced I got it from a 'special baker'."

"Nice." Tony laughed again. He couldn't see Steve on drugs, ever. "So what was the question?"

"What question?"

"The one that made your voice jump an octave."

"That? Oh, that—that was nothing."

"You are such a bad liar."

"I am not."

"You are to me." Tony snorted. "Come on, just tell me. You know she's going to ask me anyway."

"She is." Steve sighed. "She wants to know if you have a criminal record. I know, it's ridiculous, but she means well."

"Weeell…" Tony hedged.

"Oh my God." Steve's eyes went wide. "You can't be serious."

" _Criminal_ record makes it sound so much worse than it is," Tony added hastily, "Rhodey, Clint and I just got caught breaking into school once. They put an itsy bitsy little trespassing and vandalism mark on our records, it'll be gone the minute I turn eighteen—"

"Trespassing and  _vandalism?"_  Steve hung his head with a sigh. "If my mom finds out, I will never hear the end of it. What did you even do?"

"We were young, Steve, young and stupid and bored and frankly pretty high—"

"Oh  _God."_ Steve put his head in his hands. He mumbled into them, "Just tell me. Come on. Get it over with."

"Mr. Sitwell flunked Clint. So, young, stupid, bored and high, we broke in, picked the lock to his classroom door, and, uh. Well." Tony rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. "We might've taken a piss on his desk."

Steve stared at him in silence for a very long time. Tony caved first.

"Is this a good stare or a bad stare?"

"I'm just trying to figure out what it says about me that my soulmate is a guy who thinks it's funny to urinate on teacher's desks."

"It  _was_ pretty f—" Steve shot him a look. "Fuh, um, foul. Very foul. Of us, to do. Rude. Insensitive, really, but hey, I was just a baby sophomore—"

"That was last year."

"Your mom is going to start wondering where we are—"

"Nice, Tony." Steve rolled his eyes, but he was trying not to smile. "Unfortunately, you're right. Come on."

"Before we go…" Tony tried to swipe the notebook he'd lent Steve.

"It's not done." Steve was faster, snatching the notebook up and clutching it to his chest before Tony could so much as brush a finger over it.

"Aw, c'mon, I'm sure it looks great—"

"No."

"Steve—"

"No."

"Pretty please?"

"Pretty no."

"Dum-E's half-finished and I let you look at him!"

"Stop being so mean to Dum-E, he's just fine the way he is." Steve went to pat Dum-E on the head. "Aren't you boy?"

Dum-E beeped happily, the little traitor.

"I made him when I was fourteen and black-out drunk, it's a miracle he can even roll." Tony snorted. "Come on, I've waited two years, can't I just get a peek?"

"It's strangely easy to forget how terrifyingly intelligent you are sometimes." Steve shot him an odd look. "And this isn't even the same notebook."

"I don't care about the notebook," Tony insisted, "I just want to see your work."

Steve hesitated, but still shook his head.

"This is just a rough sketch. You can see it when I'm finished." With that, Steve turned around, heading back up the stairs. "Now come on, my mom was dead serious about the twenty minutes thing."

* * *

"She's not, I mean, she won't…" Tony tumbled over his words, trying to find the right phrase as they approached Steve's door. It was a pretty small house, kind of crowded up against the houses on either side, but it looked nice, very well-maintained. "She'll probably like me, right?"

"Yeah, Tony." Steve just rolled his eyes. Tony frowned. Was that supposed to be reassuring? "She's going to like you just fine."

"You don't know that. What if she finds out about my record?"

"She's still going to like you."

"You're sure?"

"I am really, really sure." Steve sighed, then he was opening the door, and Tony had about three seconds before Mama Rogers nearly lifted him off his feet.

"Oof," Tony huffed, but she just squeezed him tighter.

"Oh, it's so good to meet you, dear. Honestly, I don't know what Steve's been dragging his feet about, you're such a handsome young thing." She released him with a pat on the cheek. "Lovely eyes, just like he said—"

" _Mom,_ we talked about this—" Steve made a face, and she just laughed. It was a nice sound, happy and warm, like Steve's but lighter.

"Yes, of course, I'm not supposed to repeat what he's said about you." She pressed a finger to her lips, mischief in her eyes. "Which is silly, since how am I supposed to do that when you're all he talks ab—?"

"I think that's enough introductions." Steve took Tony's elbow and hurried him all the way inside, his ears already turning pink.

"Oh no you don't, young man." She caught Steve's arm. "You disappear into that room I won't see hide nor hair of you two all night. Come along, I made lunch, we'll chat."

"Tony doesn't want to chat, Mom—"

"I could chat," Tony offered, already in wonder of the awesome force of nature that was Mama Rogers.

"Tony—" Steve groaned, but his mom drowned him out, taking Tony by the arm and leading him down a different hall. Steve hurried behind, but she ignored his protests.

"It's settled then. Do you like spaghetti? I made a meat sauce, but I can make some without if you don't eat meat—"

"I eat meat."

"Good, I'm not sure how I feel about having a vegetarian in the family, or heaven forbid those vegans, such finicky little things, and so hard to cook for. What do you like to eat, Tony? Steve here's a wonderful chef, has he told you?"

"I, uh, I eat pretty much whatever's available. And yeah, I know. He actually made me breakfast this morning, this spinach omelet thing? First time I've eaten a vegetable and liked it in years."

"Well, we'll have to work on that, a growing boy ought to eat his vegetables." She gave him a stern look that melted into something softer. "But it's good to know I raised him right, making you breakfast like that. He's such a sweetheart, isn't he?"

" _Mom—"_

"Yeah." Tony smiled. He knew the back of his neck was turning red, and he knew Steve could see, but he didn't care. "He's a real sweetheart."

"Treats you well? None of that sass he uses on me?"

"Oh my God, Mom—"

"He's a perfect gentleman, Ms. Rogers," Tony told her honestly.

"Ms. Rogers, honestly." She laughed. "Call me Mom, if Stevie doesn't wear it out."

"We only bonded a couple weeks ago," Tony admitted, "You don't have to treat me like family or anything, it's fine—"

"Don't be silly dear, of course you're family." She brushed his hesitance off. "I won't hear another word otherwise."

"This was an awful idea." Steve groaned.

"This was a lovely idea and should've been done much, much sooner," she chastised Steve, steering Tony into a chair at the table, "Sit, both of you."

"Mom—"

"Steven." She eyed him. "Sit, or we can have a conversation about how you lied to me for the past two weeks."

"What? Aw, Mom, I didn't  _lie,_ I just didn't mention he was an omega—"

"And why you felt the need to hide that information is beyond me, this young man is charming just as he is, I know I raised you better than to believe such nonsense matters—"

"Great, now I've got  _both_ of you on my case about that." Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. "I don't care that he's an omega, Mom, I just knew you were going to interrogate the heck out of him if you knew."

"Don't be silly, I'd interrogate him either way and you know it." She placed plates in front of them both, smacking the back of Steve's head. "Now sit, Steven."

Steve sat obediently.

Mama Rogers was  _awesome._

"I hear you're some sort of genius, Tony?"

"Uh, well." For possibly the first time in his life, Tony didn't want to be a braggart. "Kind of. I do pretty well."

"He got full ride offers from four different universities when he revolutionized some robotics concept in a competition last year." Steve announced, and Tony elbowed him. He didn't want Steve's mom thinking he was a show-off! Steve ignored him and kept talking. "They wanted to take him right off the bat, but he made the choice to finish high school."

"Oh my." Steve's mother's eyes went wide in appreciation. "That's quite impressive, Tony."

"Nah, it's…you know, I mean, I like robots." God, could he sound any stupider? "It's like Steve and his art, it just comes easily to me."

"What made you choose to stay in high school?" She took a seat with them.

"MIT's my dream school." Tony twirled a forkful of pasta. "And they definitely want me, but their offer was conditional on my graduation. They don't do early admittance, even if I got a GED."

"MIT's a wonderful school." Steve's mother nodded, approving, and Tony hid a smile by taking a bite of pasta. "What do your parents think?"

"They, uh. They're fine with it."

Considering they didn't know or care, that was sort of true.

"What are they like?"

"Mom, come on—" Steve, ever-perceptive Steve, tried to intervene with a careful glance at Tony. It was a nice gesture, but Tony was well versed in how to deflect the question.

"My dad owns StarkIndustries, you've heard of them? So he's busy, but he makes time for what's important." He'd come up with that line a long time ago, and it was a good one. What was important to Howard was the business, but people always assumed when Tony said it he meant family. "My mom stays at home, runs the house."

"Any brothers or sisters?"

"No siblings. I've got some cousins out in California, but we don't see them a whole lot, it's just me and my parents."

"You're close, then?"

"My dad taught me everything I know." Tony put on a smile. It was a lie, he'd had to learn almost everything on his own after he'd shown, but it wasn't as a big a lie as 'yes, I'm close to my parents', and he'd learned it was the answer that got people to drop the subject the fastest.

"Well, not everything. That robotics concept you developed, that was you, wasn't it?" She looked up at him with a politely curious smile, and Tony found himself momentarily speechless. Everyone  _always_ bought that line, always completely willing to believe everything Tony knew was a product of his father's genius instead of his own.

"I, uh. I guess not. I mean, yeah. That was all me." A real smile started to form, and Tony tried to hide it with more spaghetti.

"What about school, do you do well?" Steve's mom moved right along. Tony wondered if she had a list of questions hidden somewhere. "Good grades, none of that drugs and alcohol business?"

"I'm on track to graduate with enough AP credit to start college as a junior," Tony told her, hoping that would be enough to distract from the second question. Most people assumed he couldn't manage both.

"My, you're quite the bright bulb. Any reason you're rushing along?"

"Well, uh." It mostly just came laughably easy to him. "I'm just trying to get to the part of my life where I get to mess around and invent things all day without worrying about classes. It's my passion, you know? It's what I'm good at."

"Passion is always good." She smiled. "I would hope some that extends to how you feel about my boy?"

"Mom, can we please not—"

"Yes." Tony surprised himself by answering. Surprised Steve too, if the wide eyes were any indication. "I care about your son a lot, Ms. Rogers."

"What did I say about that Ms. Rogers business?" She chastised him, but looked pleased with his answer nonetheless.

"Sorry." Tony gave a hint of a smile. "Mom."

"Much better." She smiled back brightly. "Steve says you're in History together?"

"Yeah. That's how we got to know each other." Tony nodded. "Working on the homework."

"We'll have to work on your courting skills, dear." Steve's mother patted Steve's hand. Steve made an indignant face. She turned back to Tony. "I hope he was a little more romantic on the first date?"

Steve choked on his spaghetti.

"Mom!"

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Steven, it's rude."

"You can't just  _ask_ that, it's personal—"

"I didn't ask what you got up to, just if you treated him properly." She gave an amused chuckle. "You're so excitable, honey, honestly."

"I'm not excitable," Steve mumbled into his food, "And we'll get to it, okay?"

"Steven Grant Rogers, are you telling me you haven't taken this boy on a proper date?"

"It's not his fault—" Tony tried to intervene.

"We're been busy—" Steve protested.

"You act like you were raised in a barn sometimes." She clicked her tongue at Steve disapprovingly. "Swooning over him for two years and you can't even manage a date—"

" _Mom."_  The pink that had been settled on Steve's ears since they walked in was spreading to his cheeks. "I was not  _swooning,_ can we not do this—"

"You're seeing each other now, what does it matter if he knows you liked him before? It's sweet." She smiled at Tony. "Don't you think it's sweet?"

"Very sweet." Tony agreed, shooting Steve a bit of a smirk.

"Don't go getting all egotistical you jerk, you liked me too," Steve grumbled.

"Sure, I kinda liked you, but man, I don't know about this  _swooning_ stuff _…"_ Tony grinned, and Steve kicked him under the table.

"Shut up."

"Be polite, Steven." Steve's mother warned him.

"Sorry, Mom."

"Are you gonna wash his mouth out with soap?" Tony asked excitedly.

"Be a little more eager about it, why don't you?" Steve glowered at him.

"So, can you tell me more about this swooning stuff?" Tony asked Ms. Rogers, putting on his best kicked puppy look, all wide eyes and innocence. "Steve never tells me anything about himself."

"What?" Steve's voice hit a squeaky pitch as his head shot up. "That's a total lie! I tell you anything you ask about!"

"Don't let his attempts to, however they say it, 'play it cool', fool you, dear." She just waved a hand to shush Steve, still talking to Tony. "That boy talks about you like you're his own personal sun, moon and stars."

"He does?" There was that stupid heart trouble again. He really ought to get that looked at. He could have a heart murmur.

Or he could be in love, but, hey.

Steve didn't seem all that opposed.

"Of course he does. Especially these past few weeks, after that little hiccup."

"Hiccup?"

"Your spat? Honestly, I've never seen anyone eat so many waffles in all my life."

"Look at that, I'm done, Tony, aren't you done?" Steve stood up, pushing his plate away.

"Nope, not even close." Tony waved him off. "Why'd he eat so many waffles?"

"Tony, come on, you don't want to hear about this—"

"He's an emotional eater, always has been, and waffles are his favorite." She laughed. "If he wasn't a stress exerciser too, I'm certain he'd be too round to fit through the door."

"Well, I'm sufficiently humiliated." Steve scrubbed a hand over his face, standing up to tug on Tony's arm. "Can we  _go_ now please?"

"I don't know, this is some great spaghetti, I could definitely have seconds—"

"Tony, I swear—" Steve growled, but his mother was already up and getting Tony more.

"Oh, good! Another hearty eater. I'm glad you like it, this is actually Steve's grandfather's special recipe." She took his plate to the counter, scooping out some more spaghetti for him. With her back turned, she couldn't see how Steve gestured for Tony to cut and run with him, or how Tony grabbed Steve and sat him back down. "He was an omega like you, actually. Couldn't get a job in those days, so he spent all his time in the kitchen, and I swear you've never tasted better food in your life. The man was a prodigy, it's where Stevie gets it from."

Steve was watching Tony carefully. Tony knew it was because of how defensive he could get, but honestly, nothing about Ms. Rogers made him the least bit defensive. She was warm and sincere, and it certainly didn't hurt that he caught glimpses of Steve in the way she'd smile.

"I believe it. Steve's a great cook." Tony just nodded with a smile.

"He can make you his pesto chicken tonight, it's to die for." She squeezed Tony's shoulder warmly as she replaced his plate.

"Tonight?" Tony paused. "Is that…do you want…I mean, are you asking me to stay for dinner?"

"Oh, honey." She gave a soft snort. "Steve's not going anywhere. You want to stay with him for this heat of yours, you're staying right here."

"I, uh…" Tony was thrown. She wanted him to stay?

"I can talk to your parents, if you need me to." She mistook his surprise for hesitance. "I can certainly assure them I'll be watching you boys just as sharply as they were."

That probably wasn't the best way to phrase that.

"Oh, no, that's—no, they'll be fine." Tony shook his head quickly. "I'd love to stay. If that's alright, I mean. I don't want to, um, intrude, or anything."

"Of course it's alright, don't be silly." She smiled at him curiously, as if he were a puzzle. "Honey, you're not some passing fancy; you're my son's soulmate. You're more than welcome here."

"Thank you." Tony had a hard time swallowing past the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt more welcome anywhere in his life. He'd never even felt this welcome in his own house. "Really, I—thank you."

"It's no trouble at all, dear." She patted his hand. "Now, what board games do you play?"

"Mom, we're not going to play board games." Steve groaned.

"Don't be silly, of course we are. You think I'm letting you two just disappear off into your bedroom? Not on my watch, Stevie." She gave a huff, as if she were insulted he thought she would.

"We're not going to  _do_ anything—"

"That's right you're not." She told Steve conclusively. "Tony—you're the guest, which game would you like to play? We have all the classics."

"I, uh." Tony rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "I haven't really played any, actually. My family, we're not really, um, a board games kind of family."

"We'll have to fix that," she decided, standing up, "Have them over for a game night sometime. Until then, we'll start you off with the basics. I'll get us a deck of cards."

She left the room, and Tony turned to Steve, who was already wincing.

"I'm so sorry, we can leave if you want—"

"Your mom is  _awesome,"_ Tony told him sincerely.

"You know she's gonna make you sleep on the couch."

"I could not care less."

Steve muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ' _I_ care', but then Steve's mom was back, and she was dealing Tony a hand of seven cards and telling him the rules for something called go fish, and Tony was busy being swept up in that strange, warm feeling swelling in his chest.


	11. Chapter 11

Steve was entirely certain he'd never been more humiliated in his life.

He had no idea what Tony was thinking, why he was even still  _here,_ just that if it went on much longer he was going to die of embarrassment.

"Oh, I'm sure I still have the picture somewhere, he was just the cutest little thing—"

"Mom, if you so much as open one album, I swear I will walk out that door," Steve warned, then, because that probably wasn't enough, "And I'll take Tony with me."

"I'm not going anywhere until I see baby pictures." Tony just grinned.

"This isn't fair," Steve complained, "She took pictures of me every time I  _breathed—"_

"And I'm sure you were adorable." Tony pinched his cheek until Steve swatted his hand away.

"I'll be just a moment." His mom was up and off down the hallway before Steve could stop her.

"Have I mentioned that I hate you lately?" Steve glared at Tony.

"Lies." Tony smiled widely, and Steve was struck by the thought that he'd never seen Tony smile as much, or as openly, as he had in the past few hours.

They'd been here for hours now; it was almost ten at night. They'd played all sorts of card games, eventually moving from the table to the living room, where they'd played dominoes, Mexican train, and Blink, which, after a round or two, Tony had completely dominated. Steve had, in fact, made the promised pesto chicken—he hadn't planned on it, but Tony given him the most ridiculously over-the-top puppy dog eyes he'd ever seen, and he'd caved. They'd had to go to the store to get some of the ingredients, which Steve had planned on using as time to convince Tony they ought to cut out, go back to his house, but Tony had just been so…enthusiastic.

He'd gone on and on about how great Steve's house was and how awesome his mom was, and Steve couldn't bring himself to say anything in the face of Tony's exuberant gratitude. For one, as embarrassing as she could be, his mom  _was_ awesome and he loved her more than anything, so it was nice that Tony appreciated her too and that they got along.

Though, "got along" might've been putting it mildly.

Tony answered her every question with open enthusiasm, and she was impressed with everything Tony did, whether it was beating her at dominoes or developing a robotic arm at fourteen. Though she was certainly grilling him thoroughly, asking everything from the tame—his favorite colors were red and gold—to the outlandishly humiliating—he did not, in fact, have any STDs—his mom also made it very clear that she thought Tony was nothing short of perfect and approved of him readily.

As the hours passed, Steve was growing more and more concerned about what Tony's own family life must be like for this to be so strangely wonderful to him. None of this was particularly out of the ordinary to Steve. The grilling his soulmate-but-not-boyfriend part was new, but it wasn't overall a particularly strange night, at least not for Steve. Tony seemed to be in a constant state of amazement though, surprised by every kind word out of his mom's mouth, astonished every time she mentioned him coming back in the future. Steve was growing to dislike Tony's parents more and more, and he was certain he didn't even know the full story yet.

He knew his mom was catching on too—she'd always been very perceptive—but all she did was leave the subject of Tony's family alone and make a point to compliment Tony more. Embarrassing as the whole affair was, Steve was grateful for his mom's compassion in light of how much it seemed Tony could use it.

They were teaching Tony gin rummy on the floor of the living room now, and Steve's mom had asked Tony about what sports and activities he'd done as a kid. When he'd mentioned soccer, Steve had said he used to play too. Tony, clearly evil incarnated, had asked if there were pictures, and before Steve could stop her, his mom had told Tony that she had at least ten picture albums of Steve growing up. Tony's response had been that he would trade his first born child for half an hour with those albums. His mother's response had been to smack Tony's arm and tell him not to trade her grandchildren. Steve's response, as it had been most of the night, had been to groan loudly into his hands.

She'd retrieved the albums before he could stop her, and Tony gleefully pushed Steve away every time he attempted to stop Tony from looking.

"Oh, he was just darling, wasn't he?"

"Yeah," Tony murmured, brushing his fingers carefully over a picture, "He was  _adorable_."

"I just look like any other baby—" Steve tried to protest, but Tony wasn't having it.

"Are you kidding me?" Tony shoved a picture in front of him. He was less than a year old, mouthing a dump truck with a giggly smile. "Steve, I'm pretty sure I could get diabetes from how cute you were."

"You'd never believe it now, but he was always such an itty bitty little thing." His mom laughed, tapping a picture of him at maybe two years old, his dad lifting him up with one hand.

"Don't I know it." Tony snorted. "My friend Rhodey once bet me if I kissed him I'd knock him right over."

"You liked him before his growth spurt, then." His mom nodded once, satisfied. "Good."

"Course I did." Tony grinned at Steve. "I don't know what lies he's been telling you, but  _he's_ the one who couldn't take a hint—"

"What hint? There was no hint, you never said two words to me!"Steve protested.

"I walked by your desk every day for a year, Rogers, what more of an 'I'm crazy about you' did you want?"

"I don't know." Steve rolled his eyes, sarcasm thick in his voice. "Maybe  _telling me_  'I'm crazy about you' would've been nice?"

"Prepostero—oh my god is that Steve in a tutu."

" _No!"_ Steve dove forward, trying to snatch the album away. "Give that back—!"

"Never in a million years, this is the most adorable thing I've ever seen in my life, it's mine forever, I'm framing it and putting it next to my bed so I can go to sleep laughing until the day I die."

"I hate you."

"That's a lie."

Tony slipped out of his hold and dashed across the room. Steve was a split second from giving chase, wrestling the album from him, before he stopped himself. Wrestling the album from anyone else would be a joke, a game, but that's not what it would be to Tony. Sure, he wouldn't be making Tony do anything unreasonable or violating him in any way, but he'd still be forcing Tony to do something through physical force. Even if it didn't hurt him, it was about control, and never taking Tony's from him the way someone obviously had before. Steve used his words instead.

"Give me the photo, Tony, or I swear, I'll never speak to you again."

"Also a lie." Tony just smirked triumphantly.

He'd obviously completely missed Steve's internal decision, and Steve was glad for it. He never wanted Tony to feel like there was even a decision to make. Respecting Tony's boundaries, even if they were a little more restrictive than most people's, should be a reflex. He never wanted Tony to feel like he ought to doubt Steve's intentions.

"If you don't give it back, I'll stop cooking for you forever."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Give me the photo."

"Make me." Tony taunted him.

"No." Tony had just been teasing, but the word was out before Steve could think about it.

The look on Tony's face said he understood immediately. He blinked widely, and his hold on the album loosened. The air in the room went a bit still, and his mother stood, brushing her hair back with a little huff.

"Boys." She sighed. "It's getting late. Tony, go fetch yourself some pajamas from Steve's bedroom. Top dresser drawer."

Tony nodded, subdued now and watching Steve curiously. Surprise and confusion was written in his every movement. It wasn't until after he disappeared into Steve's room that Steve's mother spoke again.

"Do you know who?" She asked softly, still watching the direction Tony had taken off in, empathy and worry in her features.

"Who what?" Steve asked, confused.

"Never mind, dear." She sighed again, patting him on the shoulder. "You ought to go get cleaned up too. I'll make up the pull-out for Tony."

"Are you sure?" Steve hesitated, something about the look in his mom's eyes throwing him off.

"Of course I am. Hurry along."

He knocked before entering his room, but Tony was already finished changing.

"Sorry about the couch." Steve bit his lip. "I know it's not really comfortable—"

"I'm sure it'll be fine."

"I had to sleep on it last time my aunt and uncle were in town." Steve winced in memory. "I feel pretty confident saying we own the lumpiest couch in existence."

"It can't be that bad." Tony rolled his eyes, but before Steve could answer, his expression turned serious. "You know, I'm not made of glass, or anything. I'm not gonna scream rape if you side eye me wrong."

"I know. But you've got to help me a little here, Tony. You won't talk about it, so until you tell me otherwise, I'm going to assume 'don't touch' means everything except when you tell me I can and fires."

"Fires?"

"If there's a fire, I'm throwing you over my shoulder whether you like it or not. You can bitch at me about it later when you're still alive."

"Careful, Rogers." A hint of a smile stretched across Tony's features. "Your mother might wash your mouth out with soap for that."

"You're telling me. Wait til she does it to you."

"Me?"

"Laugh all you want, I can't wait."

"You are so strange."

"Yeah, but you like it."

"I do." Tony smiled again, enigmatic as ever. "I really do."

"You like my mom too, I gathered?" Steve teased.

"I, uh." Tony's smile faltered, and Steve regretted saying anything.

"Sorry, you don't have to—"

"No, I just…your mom's great, Steve. Really…really great. I love my mother, but I only ever see her in passing. The only time I can even remember having a conversation about anything deeper than the weather was when I showed, and she told me about how shitty my life was going to be. It isn't exactly the Brady Bunch over at my house, y'know? I just feel…comfortable, here, probably more than I should and I'm sorry if I've made you feel embarrassed or—"

" _You_ are not the one embarrassing me." Steve itched to put a hand on Tony's shoulder, take his hand,  _something_. "But I can live with a little embarrassment, Tony. You're always welcome here. I'm just surprised, I thought you'd resent the lack of privacy."

"Fine line between privacy and loneliness." Tony wasn't making eye contact with him. Steve decided something along the lines of fuck it and took Tony's hand in his.

"Whenever you feel like that? Come over. When my mom said you're welcome here, she meant it. She's enthusiastic, but she doesn't say things she doesn't mean. You don't even have to call, or talk about why you came over. We'll just play stupid card games while my mom not-so-subtly grills you and you can laugh at my ridiculous baby pictures and sleep on the lumpiest couch in existence and it'll be a lot of things, but I promise you I won't ever let lonely be one of them."

He saw Tony swallow hard, and when Tony looked up, Steve could've sworn his eyes were a bit misty. He didn't have time to think about it though, because then Tony was kissing him. It was soft, just a bare press of the lips, and though it was fragile and cautious and nothing at all like the last time they'd kissed, it still stole Steve's breath away.

It was brief, chaste, and ended with Tony pulling away long before Steve was ready. But then, they could've kissed for years and Steve wouldn't have been ready for it to end. He didn't pull Tony back in like he wanted to though, didn't slide his hands into place on Tony's hips or surge forward to taste the mint still fresh in his mouth. He wanted to like he'd never wanted anything, but he knew he couldn't take those kinds of liberties, not yet.

"Thanks, Steve." Tony squeezed his hand.

"Anytime." Steve blinked a bit dazedly.

"I meant for the offer to come over." Tony gave a little smirk, all hints of unnecessary emotion wiped clean. "But that too."

"Okay." Steve just blinked again.

"See you tomorrow, Steve."

"Goodnight."

Tony was going to be the death of him.

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, then changed into his pajamas, all while trying to ignore the way his lips still tingled. He had too good of an imagination, or perhaps too good a memory—he could still remember the intoxicating burn of Tony's skin against his, the flex of their fingers as they intertwined, every curved dip and lean angle of Tony's body, all new and mesmerizing and utterly, frustratingly unrepeatable on paper.

It had been on the backburner of his mind all day, brought to the surface now by even just the briefest of touches. He laid back in bed, but it was impossible to shut his mind off long enough for sleep. Soon enough his mother came in, and he sat up at her entrance. She came to sit on the edge of his bed.

"That's some boy you chose."

"Didn't really choose him." Steve gave a bit of a modest shrug. "Soulmates."

"Maybe not. But you made the choice to love him." She took his hand. "I hope you keep making it."

"What do you mean?"

"Relationships are work, dear. Falling in love is easy; keeping love is hard. Soulbonds sound nice and pretty, but they're no fairytale. Lord knows your grandparents had a rough go of it."

"They did?"

"Of course they did. A relationship's strength comes from the storms it's weathered; soulbonds are the strongest bonds there are. To get that much stronger, you have to go through that many more storms. Some don't make it out."

"Oh." Steve hadn't known that. Soulbonds were always supposed to be this crazy rare, once in a lifetime love kind of thing, this picture perfect example of what love was supposed to be like. He'd kind of thought he was screwing it up.

"That boy out there is God's gift to you, and you to him." She pressed a kiss to his hair. "Don't you ever forget that. You start taking people for granted, they start to too."

"Mom…" Steve bit his lip. "I ought to tell you, we…Tony and I, we're not exactly—"

"I know you're not together, dear." She gave him a wry smile.

"What?"

"Heaven knows why you thought you had to lie about it." She tweaked his ear. "But I'm no fool, Steven."

"What gave us away?"

"Oh, honey." She gave him a sympathetic look, stroking back his hair. "You've never bonded with anyone before, and of course he hasn't either, so you wouldn't know. But you're both missing that sense of…familiarity, of certainty. I can tell you care about each other and you're close, but you're both hesitant about a lot of the little intimacies that would come without thought in a relationship. You don't share each other's space the same way."

"He…he's wary of me," Steve admitted, "Of alphas in general, actually."

"I had a feeling." She just nodded, squeezing his shoulder. "Get some sleep. And don't get up to any funny business when he comes in tonight, you hear?"

"What?"

"When will you stop taking me for a fool?" She smiled at him wryly. "I know full well that boy's not staying on that couch long."

"I don't know about that," Steve mumbled, "He didn't say anything to me about it."

"Well, no wonder you're not properly together yet if you're waiting around for him to tell you every little thought running through his mind." She rolled her eyes. "You boys are hopeless, honestly. Do try and sort it out before I get too old to run around after my grandchildren."

"Mom." Steve flushed. "We can't have—"

"Do you have something against adoption, dear?"

"No, but I am  _begging_  you not to bring this up to him."

"Of course not, you're far too young to be thinking about things like that."

"But you just said—"

"My metaphorical grandchildren." She patted his knee in a placating manner. "You're just so fun to tease sometimes."

"Thanks." Steve rolled his eyes.

"Sleep." She leaned in, kissing his forehead. "I'm making waffles in the morning."

"But you always say they're only for Mondays and special occasions."

"Well, that Tony's a very special boy." She paused at the door with a soft sigh, the same worry on her features he'd seen earlier that he still didn't understand. She smiled at him wearily after a moment. "I'm glad he's got someone like you, Steve. You'll be good to him."

Then she was closing the door with a click, leaving Steve to think in silence. What did those looks mean? Not to mention, how could his mom know something he didn't? He hadn't left Tony's side at all today; part of it was that the heat made doing so uncomfortable, part of it was that he wanted to know everything his mother said about him, but the largest part was simply that he hadn't wanted to. He was certain Tony hadn't been alone with his mother for any length of time, and he doubted Tony would go telling anyone his deepest darkest secrets just out of the blue.

He didn't understand what it meant, but he let the thought slide temporarily in lieu of sleep.

* * *

Steve was right.

This was the lumpiest couch in existence.

Tony shifted and wiggled, trying to get comfy, until he heard the click of Steve's door closing. He stilled, not wanting Steve's mom to think he was uncomfortable or ungrateful. She passed by the couch, and before Tony could turn or sit up or even spare a thought, she leaned down and kissed his forehead.

"Goodnight, dear." She brushed his hair back gently before heading off down the hall to her room.

Tony froze completely. He was sure he looked strange, eyes wide as he blinked up at the ceiling blankly, but he felt like Dum-E bumping into a non-functional line of coding; he just kept trying to run it, again and again, no matter how many times he failed to process it. He  _couldn't_ process it. He tried to remember the last time his own mother had kissed him, but he came up blank.

It was a long time before he was able to come to terms with the fact that this woman was genuinely trying to treat him like a son, that she  _wanted_ to. It was more than Tony could've asked for. He'd never truly believed he'd find his supposed soulmate. Not all omegas did. He'd certainly never thought he'd get a chance with Steve at all, much less have Steve care about him enough to wait for Tony to sort out his issues.

He'd never, not even in his dreams where he had a soulmate and it was Steve and they were happy and life was perfect, ever imagined a family. His parents were who they were. He did love his mother, mostly out of empathy because she was broken in the same way he'd always thought he would be too, but he'd never felt loved by her. There had never been any warmth or connection in their relationship. If anything, the very thing that should've made them close had only made her retreat from him further.

He could still remember the horror in her eyes when she'd found out he was an omega too, the deep sadness with which she'd told him how sorry she was about how awful his life was going to be. She blamed herself, she blamed Howard, maybe she even blamed Tony; it didn't matter. She'd been drowning in guilt and blame and sadness so long she had nothing left to give him, even if he had loved her with everything he had.

There was a sick, twisted up part of Tony that still loved his father, too. Hate was too easy, too simple for what Tony felt for him. Hate wouldn't explain the deep need he still felt to prove himself, wouldn't explain how much Tony still craved his approval, how much he still hoped to make him proud someday in spite of everything.

His family was what it was. It was broken beyond repair, but Tony had never imagined someone else's family loving him like his own should've. Rhodey and Pepper's families were welcoming, of course, but they were nothing like this. He'd never in his life felt so unconditionally  _accepted._

He felt his heart doing that funny swelling thing again, and he suddenly couldn't bear it.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and threw off his covers to sneak into Steve's room. He slipped inside, closing the door carefully and leaning against it.

"Are you still awake?" he murmured.

"Mhm," Steve mumbled into his pillow.

"Could I, maybe, uh—"

"C'mere." Steve scooted over a little, rolling over to open an arm and wave a hand for Tony to come fill the space. Tony couldn't help a tired smile; sleepy Steve was the best Steve.

He crawled into the bed, this time facing Steve and curling into him. He pressed closer until he could feel Steve's heartbeat against his cheek, and Steve wrapped his arms around him, one hand on his back, the other stroking his hair idly. They stayed like that for a long time, the steady beat of Steve's heart soothing the tidal wave of emotions Tony wasn't sure he could handle alone.

"Something's wrong with my heart," he told Steve eventually.

"Oh?" Steve murmured, amused.

"I think it might explode."

"Hope not."

"That's all? You hope not?"

Steve pondered this a moment.

"I  _really_ hope not."

"You're a horrible soulmate."

"'s a lie." Steve nuzzled him with a sleepy smile.

"Yeah." Tony nodded against Steve's chest. "That's a lie."

They were quiet a little longer, until Tony spoke up again.

"I don't know what it means."

_You've got to help me a little here, Tony. You won't talk about it, so until you tell me otherwise, I'm going to assume 'don't touch' means everything except when you tell me I can and fires._

Steve stayed silent.

"It's not…certain. I don't have some list of 'okay' and 'not okay'. Sometimes you walk towards me and I think holy fuck this guy could beat me worse than—than anyone, and sometimes you walk towards me and I think hey, look, it's Steve, I'd really like to kiss that guy. I wish I could tell you what makes me think one or the other but I don't _know."_ Tony's hands fisted in Steve's shirt angrily. He wanted to fix it, to fix himself, but he didn't know how.

"You don't have to know. Okay?" Steve's fingers carded through his hair softly, his words a gentle rumble in Tony's ear. "You don't. Just…tell me which one you're feeling. Let me know somehow."

"I don't know, you're not so hot at the whole 'taking hints' thing…"

"Walking by my desk a thousand times without even looking at me doesn't count as a hint, Tony."

"Says you."

"Says everyone."

"Fine. I'll…" Tony fumbled, before coming across what should've been his first thought. "I'll push it at you."

"What?"

"You know, like…" He pushed his feelings of warmth and acceptance and home through to Steve's part of the bond. Steve blinked rapidly, processing, before a slow, happy smile spread across his face. Tony's neck felt hot, but he could tell Steve had received it. "Like, um, that."

"Could I kiss you?" Steve asked him softly, something so earnest and fragile in his voice.

"Yes." Tony answered instead of kissing him, because he wanted Steve to kiss him. Wanted to see what Steve was like, given an inch of dominance.

Give an alpha an inch, they'll take a mile, right?

Steve's mouth was barely present against Tony's, soft and sweet and utterly heartbreaking in its cautious hope. Steve's hands didn't move to pull Tony closer, his tongue didn't find its way into Tony's mouth; he just settled against him, solid but gentle, as if Tony was the most precious thing in all of Steve's world and he'd do anything to keep him intact.

Give an alpha an inch, they'll take a mile; give Steve an inch, he'll give you a mile.


	12. Chapter 12

"—still working on figuring out which branch I want to go into, but I—"

"I'm conflicted," Clint announced.

"No, it's cool man, I wasn't talking or anything." Rhodey rolled his eyes. "Please, steamroll right over me."

"Come on, are we going to just  _ignore_ that?" Clint waved a hand wildly at Tony, who was across the quad.

With Steve.

He hadn't seen any signs of hand-holding or kissing or any other couple-y shit, but Clint knew better. Steve was sitting close enough to Tony that their knees were touching, and Tony seemed totally fine. Clint knew him, and the fact that he wasn't spewing some bullshit right now about how Steve's knee bumping his was a symbol that he thought omegas had weak knees or whatever meant something had changed between them _._ Clint just didn't know what yet.

They weren't  _together_ together, that much Tony had clarified. Clint had been texting him on and off for the past few days, while Tony worked through that strangely timed heat thing, but all Tony had told him was that he and Steve were "working it out", and that he'd tell him more in person. Clint asked if they were at least exclusive now, and Tony's only reply had been a sarcastic quip about how "soulbonds are pretty exclusive, dude".

So he'd figured hey, come Monday, at least he'd hear the story, right?

Wrong, because now Tony was sitting with  _Steve._

"You know we don't own him and he can sit where he wants, right?" Pepper sighed at Clint.

"When has he ever  _not_ sat with us?" Clint demanded. "And right after he gets back from being out on heat leave? Come on, he's ditching us for his new beau!"

"Steve asked him to meet his friends," Natasha told him without looking up from her phone. Who was she texting, anyway? "They're both coming over here halfway through lunch for Tony to do the same with us. Calm down."

"What?" Clint frowned. How did she have a source he didn't? "How do you know?"

Natasha's pinched face could only mean one thing.

"That Barnes guy?" Clint scooted closer, trying to catch a glimpse of her screen, but she clicked a button and the conversation went dark. "So you  _have_  been talking to him!"

"For informative purposes only." Natasha pursed her lips. "He's Rogers' best friend. He's a valuable source."

"I thought he was just supposed to be a one-off." Clint raised an eyebrow, ignoring the bullshit lie about sources.

"Yeah, that's what Tony said about Steve." Rhodey snorted.

"He's a friend." Natasha pursed her lips tighter.

"Also what Tony said about Steve." Pepper pointed out.

"Are we going to compare everyone in denial to Tony now?" Bruce chuckled, though he didn't look like he was protesting.

"Nah. That's setting the bar way too high." Clint shook his head with a grin, then an idea occurred to him. "Why don't we just go join them?"

"We don't know them," Rhodey pointed out.

"Sure we do. Sam and I did a project together last semester. Bruce knows Jane and Thor from science club. Rhodey, you were on football last year, you know Bucky, Sam and Thor—scratch that,  _everyone_ knows Thor, and Tasha obviously knows Bucky. And Pepper, didn't you interview Jane a few weeks ago?"

"I did," Pepper admitted, "She seems nice. And Steve's in my calculus class."

"Come on, we know them well enough. Plus, if we all sit together, we don't have to share custody of Stony."

"What?" Pepper raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Steve and Tony. Stony." Clint glanced around the table. No one seemed to get how funny he was. "Oh come on, you were all totally thinking it."

"I think I'll stick with Steve and Tony." Bruce chuckled. "But I'm not opposed to moving."

"It's settled then, let's go."

Clint hoisted his backpack up, balancing his lunch tray in one hand while hurrying the others along. They all dawdled, rolling their eyes at him, but Clint ignored them. He was already focused on his next goal, narrowing his eyes at Steve. Clint was going to need to have a talk with this kid before things got too crazy.

"Hey Rhodes, you like what you're seeing?" Clint made a disgruntled sort of face.

"I'm sorry, are you asking me if I'm worried about  _Steve Rogers?"_

"We don't know him that well," Clint pointed out, "For all we know the cutesy boy scout thing is an act. He could secretly be an axe murderer!"

"I distinctly recall you claiming Bruce was the same thing the first time Tony invited him to eat with us." Natasha snorted. "How's that panning out for you?"

"But this time it's a legitimate concern—"

"Clint." Pepper squeezed his shoulder. "We care about Tony too. But watch how Steve looks at him, and tell me you really think there's something to worry about."

They were halfway across the quad now, and Clint could see Tony talking animatedly to Jane, making wild hand gestures like he always did when science was involved. Though Tony was focused on Jane and science, Steve's focus was entirely on Tony. He was watching with this disgustingly sappy, amused half-smile on his face, like he couldn't imagine being anywhere else.

"Okay, maybe he's not an axe murderer," Clint muttered, "But I still say the guy needs a talking to."

"I agree with Clint." Bruce nodded.

"Really?" Clint perked up.

"Of course, we have to talk some sense into him. How dare he treat our best friend with love and respect? That's just wrong." Bruce's tone was so dry Clint almost missed the joke. The others burst into laughter.

"Ha fucking ha," Clint just grumbled.

"Mind if we join you?" Pepper asked as they approached.

Tony looked startled, but the others seemed pleased, particularly Steve. They went through introductions, and slipped into conversation with very little pause. Bruce joined Tony and Jane's debate, taking Jane's side, much to Tony's loud displeasure. Bucky immediately began hitting on Natasha, who rolled her eyes but inexplicably sat next to him anyway. Sam and Thor roped Rhodey into a discussion about why he was in ROTC instead of football this year, while Pepper began talking to Steve about something their shared teacher had gone over that morning. Clint just settled into a firm glare at Steve.

"Can I, uh, help you?" Steve eventually turned to him, curious. "Clint, right?"

"Ignore Barton, he's an asshat." Tony intervened, kicking Clint under the table.

"Have you ever axe murdered someone?" Clint demanded.

"Me?" Steve blinked. "No."

"Have you ever  _wanted_ to?" Clint insisted, "You know, dark urges, blood lust, that sort of thing?"

"Oh my god." Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Here we go." Bruce sighed.

"Uh, no," Steve answered, eyes wide and confused. He looked like an innocent puppy; the perfect act, Clint decided.

"Ignore him, we usually do," Rhodey contributed, patting Steve on the shoulder, "We're relatively sure he has brain damage."

"If someone was gonna hurt Tony, would you axe murder them?" Clint ignored his jerk friends to question Steve.

"I guess it depends on what you mean by hurt." Steve fidgeted. "But I don't think I'd go  _that_ far."

"If they were gonna axe murder him, would you axe murder them?"

"You seem a bit fixated on axe murder."

"Answer the question."

"If it was the only option that kept him alive, I suppose I would." Steve rubbed the back of his neck. "Though I think I might try getting him to safety first."

"Can we stop talking about someone trying to axe murder me please?" Tony shot a glare at Clint. "The only axe murder going on here is going to be yours if you don't shove off with the interrogation bullshit."

"You put up with my mom interrogating you," Steve pointed out to Tony, "I don't mind answering a few questions of Clint's, if it makes him feel better."

Tony's friend group collectively groaned, Tony included. Clint ignored them all.

"Good, because I have a list." He dug it out of his backpack.

"You've made a very bad decision," Rhodey informed Steve.

"Have you ever bonded before?" Clint just started going down his list.

"No."

"Have you ever  _wanted_ to?"

"In sixth grade, when I still thought all it meant was holding hands at lunch." Steve's ears went a bit pink, but he didn't look like he was going to back down yet.

"Who?"

"Peggy Carter."

"Did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Hold her hand."

"Once."

"Why not more?"

"I had to change schools, I haven't seen her since."

"Have you held Tony's hand?"

"Barton, I will fucking end you one of these days, I swear to god—" Tony growled, but Steve forged on.

"Yes."

"You're not right now."

"That's what I said!" Bucky agreed, at least until Natasha smacked him.

"And I told Bucky what I'll tell you, that it's none of your business what we do and don't do." A muscle in Steve's jaw jumped.

"Moving along." Clint decided to let that one go, at least for the moment. "Have you done drugs?"

"No." Steve shook his head quickly.

"Shame, Bruce sells the best weed—"

"I'd rather not get arrested, thanks." Steve snorted, and Clint's eyes widened.

"We were  _detained,_ not  _arrested—"_ Tony tried to clarify to Steve, but Clint was already rounding on him.

"You  _told him?"_

"We were supposed to take that to the grave!" Rhodey agreed.

"He asked if I had a criminal record!" Tony protested, "What was I supposed to do, lie?"

"Yes!" Clint insisted.

"You thought Tony had a criminal record?" Sam laughed at Steve.

"My mom made me ask," Steve admitted.

"Wait, you actually  _have_ one?" Jane widened her eyes at Tony.

"It's an itty bitty black mark, it's not a big deal—"

"That was our secret!" Rhodey groaned.

"I couldn't just  _lie—"_

"That's exactly what you could've done," Clint complained, then because it was question number fourteen and this was a good opening, "What about you, Steve, how often do you lie? Have you ever lied to Tony?"

"Not often." Steve fidgeted. "And not that I can think of, no."

"I'm gonna say some stuff, and you're gonna tell me the first word that comes to mind: Tony."

"Soulmate." Steve's ears went pink again.

"Sex."

"Er." The brief but telling glance Steve flicked Tony's way said enough. "Do I have to answer that?"

"Nah, I think we got the idea." Bucky grinned.

"Friend." Clint moved down the list.

"Bucky."

"You know it." Bucky bumped fists with Steve.

"Tony's friend."

"Interrogation."

That got a laugh, though Clint scowled.

"This is important, blondie, focus."

"I'm focused." Steve nodded, though he mostly looked amused.

"You don't have to answer this," Tony insisted, "He's a dick, we usually ignore him."

"It's true." Bruce chuckled. "At least when he gets like this."

"It's fine." Steve just lifted his chin to Clint, as if to give him permission. "I've got nothing to hide."

"Religion."

"Catholic."

"Politics."

"Democrat."

"Family."

"Mom."

"Conservatives."

"Misinformed assholes."

The table liked this answer; Rhodey leaned across to high-five Steve, while Tony did his best not to look pleased and failed.

"That was two words," Clint grumbled.

"They make me angry." Steve shrugged, not looking particularly apologetic.

"Fine, I'll give it to you because it's a good answer," Clint conceded, "Marriage."

"Someday."

"Kids."

"Maybe?"

"Fear."

"Flying."

"Seriously?" Tony interrupted.

"I don't like planes." Steve shrugged.

"Vacation."

"Beach."

"Superpower."

"Superstrength."

"I think you've already got that one." Tony poked a muscle.

"Tony." Steve just rolled his eyes fondly.

"Last question, and you better tell the truth because I  _will_ do it." Clint stared him down. "If you hurt Tony in any way, do I have permission to punch you in the face?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Tony interrupted, punching Clint in the arm. "For fuck's sake, would you quit it?"

"I said it was the last question, you dick, why'd you hit me?"

"Because I'm not made of fucking glass, I don't need you fighting my goddamn battles," Tony snapped, "And don't answer that, Steve, it's stupid and omegist and I don't want to hear it."

The interrogation cut short, the others went back to their conversations. Clint was still moody about not getting an answer, but he figured he could always question him more later. It wasn't until lunch ended and he went to put his tray away that he found a note slipped under his plate.

_Yes._

Steve, Clint decided, was alright.

* * *

When Tony got home after his weekend at Steve's, there was a small, ridiculous part of him that almost expected his parents to be worried. He'd clearly been spending too much time with Steve's family—his parents hadn't cared where he was or what he was up to since the sixth grade.

Both Steve and Steve's mom had insisted again and again that Tony was welcome to stay as long as he wanted, but Tony figured he was pushing it enough as it was. He'd stayed all weekend, even though the heat finished by Sunday, and had driven Steve to school earlier that morning. Things between them were…different, but good.

They hadn't been left alone for a minute aside from at night, not even when Steve's mom had to go to work. She was a nurse at the local hospital, so she'd worked through most of the weekend, but she'd had Steve's elderly neighbor stay with them whenever she wasn't home. It had been strange, like being a guest star on the Brady Bunch, but ultimately? It was the best weekend he'd had in a long time.

"Ever" counted as "a long time", right?

There had been more kissing, too, and not once had it started without Steve asking him for permission in that soft, painfully hopeful tone. Every time, Tony waited for Steve to grow bored with it. Waited for this to be the time Steve pushed for more, the time he insisted Tony let him get further.

It didn't happen.

Steve didn't ask for more, didn't drop hints or ask outright or try anything. Not to mention he kissed like it was both the first and last time he'd ever be allowed to, gave himself over to it completely and without hesitation. The moment Tony so much as breathed differently or twitched a muscle, he pulled away. Not reluctantly or petulantly either, but with this breathless, prize-winning smile, like even the smallest taste of Tony was all he needed to be happy; he'd just snuggle Tony closer and drop the subject completely. In short?

Steve-kisses were going to be the death of him.

The only thing stopping Tony from a full-blown relationship now was that he knew Steve wouldn't want him to keep using the Pherex. Hell, he knew Steve already didn't like it, that the only thing stopping him from saying anything was that he didn't think it was his place to. If they did become an actual couple, Steve would want to know why he was so insistent on still hiding his taken pheromones.

Tony couldn't tell Steve about Howard. How could he? Steve wouldn't understand. He'd just think Tony was pathetic for putting up with it, for accepting it. He wouldn't understand that Tony still needed to prove himself, wouldn't understand that yes, okay, sometimes he begged for it to stop but that didn't make him  _weak,_ it was just…it was easier. Maybe Steve wouldn't agree. Maybe he'd think it  _did_ make Tony weak, that it made him as pathetic as omegas were supposed to be.

Tony wouldn't be able to stand it if Steve ever looked at him with the same disappointment Howard did.

He didn't know how this was going to end. They still had a year and a half of high school—Steve had  _said_ he could wait years, but that couldn't possibly be true. Something was going to give, Tony knew—hell, it might even be him if Steve kept kissing him like that—but he would postpone it as long as he could. Procrastination was his specialty, after all.

And procrastinate he did; for nearly two weeks, there wasn't a cloud to be seen on the horizon of their not-quite-relationship.

They were attached at the hip. Embarrassing as it was at first, Tony got used to it all too quickly. Their friend groups had integrated smoothly without either of them saying or doing a thing. Steve walked with him to classes and came to science club, Tony watched football practices and showed up at the library to tease him at work. They spent all of History class passing doodle-filled notes back and forth, and all of their time after school on google and pouring through the textbook to find the answers to the homework they'd ignored the lecture on. Tony had dinner at Steve's every other night, and weekends were spent together at Steve's or out with their increasingly cohesive friend group.

They always sat close and occasionally kissed in back hallways, but there was no hand-holding, no public displays of affection, nothing to say this-is-my-Steve-not-yours-don't-touch, and it was driving Tony crazy. He wanted it, he knew that. Well, he'd always known that, but now he knew he wanted it enough to fuck the consequences. The more time they spent together, the less Tony could honestly imagine Steve becoming anything like his father anyway.

It was Friday night now, which these days meant a football game in spite of Tony's still somewhat iffy knowledge about how the game worked. This time they were taking on their rival school, Triskelion High and their team, the Ultimates. It was a stupid name for a stupid team, but they were damn good and Tony was certain he was going to feel more than a few tackles through the bond.

It was something he still wasn't completely used to. The thing about feeling his mate's pain through the bond, as he'd been learning through experience, was that it was less pain and more notification. At practice, Steve got tackled more than a few times; Tony would feel a thump in his shoulder, his chest, wherever Steve took it, then nothing. If he  _wanted_ to know more he could tug at Steve's bond for it, could feel the pain again if he were so inclined, but even if Steve was in pain for days, Tony would only feel it the once unless it got worse.

So really, Tony didn't mind if he felt a few twinges through the bond. Steve loved football, loved being on the team, and Steve getting to do something he loved was totally worth a little discomfort here and there. It was better to watch than just sit at home and randomly feel pain every couple minutes though, so Tony made a habit of making the games. Almost all his friends went anyway, with the exception of the ever-busy Pepper and the crowd-shy Bruce, so it was fun. He was running late, had lost track of time, but he could still totally make the second half. Tony popped one of the Pherex—it was almost eight, when he usually took them—and hopped in the shower to scrub the oil and grease he'd accumulated from working in the shop out of his hair.

Only to nearly slip and crack his skull open when the pounding on the bathroom door began.

"Get out here, now!" Howard shouted through the banging.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tony's mind raced for what Howard could possibly want, for anything he'd said or done that could've irritated him, but came up blank. He'd barely even seen him lately. Howard was always busy with the company or in the workshop, and it wasn't like they spent their free time bonding. They operated in different circles; if they saw each other at all, it was because Tony had managed to piss Howard off.

"Did you fucking hear me? I said  _now!"_

Tony shut off the water, trying to rub the remaining shampoo out of his hair with the towel as he slipping into his clothes and stumbled out.

"What—?"

Oh,  _fuck._

He'd left the bottle out.

"What the fuck is this?" Howard demanded, throwing it at Tony's chest.

"I can explain—"

"By all means, explain to me how you could let something like this happen."

"I didn't mean to, it was a stupid accident—"

"Don't give me that bullshit." Howard's face twisted into a sneer. "I don't give a damn what your biology says, you can't just go around letting everyone have a fucking turn with you, Tony!"

"It didn't happen like that, I just—"

"Just what?" Howard growled, "Let me guess, it was during that  _heat_ of yours? You're supposed to be better than that! I taught you to take it like a Stark, like the alpha you should've been—"

"It wasn't like that! I didn't give in to the heat, I didn't let him lay a hand on me, I swear—"

"So it was  _before?"_ Howard advanced, shoving him back. "How long have you been hiding this from me?"

"I just needed time to—"

"To break it?" Howard demanded. He was only inches away now, had Tony backed against the wall with nowhere to run.

"I tried, I've  _been_ trying—" It was only half a lie. He hadn't been trying, not for a while now, but he had in the beginning. He'd read everything he could get his hands on, everything from home remedy bullshit to medical advice, but clearly nothing had worked. He couldn't say that though, didn't dare. "It just, it hasn't worked yet—"

"Then you find a way!" Howard slammed Tony back against the wall, taking Tony's chin in one hand. He was close enough Tony could smell the scotch on his breath. Not enough to make him slur, just enough to make him angry; his favorite combination. "Listen to me boy, and listen good: you find a way, or I will. Understand?"

"Dad…" Tony swallowed thickly. "I'm not so sure soulbonds brea—"

Howard lifted him up before slamming him back again, and Tony's head connected with the wall. Pinpricks of white danced across his vision, but he nodded hastily in spite of the way it made his head swim worse.

"What was that?"

"I said I'll find a way."

Howard stared him down a moment longer, before releasing Tony and stalking out of the room. He paused in the doorway with an aggressive sigh.

"You make me look bad enough, Tony. Don't make it worse."

* * *

Steve glanced up into the stands again.

It wasn't as if he could  _see_ Tony there, but it was reflexive. He searched, but couldn't sense him anywhere nearby, not for miles. He wondered why Tony hadn't made the game, but didn't worry too much. He couldn't make  _every_ game after all, and he'd probably called after Steve had put away his phone in the locker room. Still, Steve couldn't stop checking every time he was on the bench, seeing if maybe he'd just shown up late.

No signs of Tony, but Steve saw the coach wave him over. He joined the huddle up, and they figured out their last play before halftime. He slapped the back of Bucky and Sam's helmets for good luck and Thor slapped all their butts no matter how they tried to avoid it, then they were on the field and running the play.

Sam cleared the ball, and Steve caught sight of an opening. He shoved a rival player out of his way, made himself available; it wasn't his position and it hadn't been the plan, but it'd work, he knew it would. Sam must've agreed, because he launched the ball in Steve's direction.

Something slammed into the back of his skull, and white flickered across his vision. He stumbled, and the ball went sailing just out of his reach. An Ultimate scooped it up and dodged out of Steve's grasp, shooting past nearly all of Shield's defense, gaining Triskelion almost the entire field before Thor was able to take the player down.

Coach yanked Steve off the field immediately.

"What the  _fuck_ was that?" he hollered, red-faced, arms gesticulating wildly, "Rogers, Wilson: out!"

"Coach—!" They both protested, but coach wasn't having it.

"Bench, both of you!"

"I made the call, c'mon, don't bench him, we need him—" Sam started to protest.

"Not if he's gonna have a seizure under pressure!" Coach turned on Steve, "What was that, kid? You got medical problems you've been keeping from me?"

"No." Steve shook his head cluelessly. He had no idea what that had been, it had just been a sharp jab of pain, a flash of white, then it was as if nothing had happened. "You've got all my medical records, I'm fine. I promise, it won't happen again."

"You're damn right it won't. Both of you glue your asses to that bench, and I don't want to hear another word until we're back in the lead."

Thankfully they did regain the lead, if narrowly. It was probably the only reason coach didn't kick them off the team then and there. Sam was reinstated by fourth quarter, and coach put Steve on probation until he got checked out by a doctor. Steve agreed, but it only took a few minutes on the bench, looking for Tony and hoping he hadn't seen, for him to realize what had happened.

Tony.

It had to be. It was the same kind of pain Steve felt when Tony bruised his shoulder, there and gone in the space of a second. Worry and panic flooded his system, and he spent the next half hour resisting the urge to sprint off the field and find Tony himself. The pain had been to the back of his head; what if Tony had a concussion? He had to be okay, or Steve would be feeling more, but he was still worried. He tried to probe into the bond for answers, but for the first time in weeks, Tony was keeping him very firmly out.

He sensed Tony arriving at the game, but even then, any time he tried to probe for more, for how Tony was feeling, if it still hurt, Tony just stonewalled him. Once the game was finished, Steve didn't even change out of his gear before seeking Tony out.

"Hey." Steve tried to catch him, even as Tony slipped through the crowd. "Hey, Tony!"

"Hey." Tony didn't need to push his discomfort through their bond for Steve to know Tony didn't want him near right now. "Good game. We won, right?"

"We did. Are you alright?"

"Sure." Tony shrugged stiffly. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because you hit your head," Steve pressed, "Did you think I wouldn't notice?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?"

"Why are you blocking me out?"

"Can you just drop it?" Tony snapped, "Not everything's your goddamn business."

"I don't know if you noticed, but it kind of almost got me kicked off the team." Steve frowned. "I think that sort of makes it my business."

"Sorry if my concussion distracted the great football star—" Tony sneered, but Steve cut him off.

"I didn't mean it like that, come on. You know I care more that you got hurt, I just want to know what happened."

"It was stupid, okay? It was my fault."

"What do you mean it—"

"I mean I did something stupid and I faced the fucking consequences, alright? I can fucking handle myself, I don't need some alpha in my business."

"Do  _not_ make this about you being an omega, Tony, I swear to God—"

"Sorry, is my being defensive getting on your nerves? I've only been prejudiced against my  _entire fucking life,_ but hey, sure Steve, I'll just get the fuck over it because you want me to, do what you say like a good little omega, right?"

"Don't even try and pull that crap, you know that's not what I meant."

"Oh, well, sorry to bug you with my 'crap', Steve, I won't make that fucking mistake again—"

"Yeah, Tony, it's crap! You know I don't care about any of that—"

"I can tell, being bonded to me is a real fucking joy for you, clearly—"

"The part where you doing something stupid damn near gets me kicked off the team wasn't exactly a great example of it, no—"

"Look, I just, Clint dared me to climb the fence instead of paying to get in, since I was late and the ticket was double. I'm not so hot at climbing fences and I fell. That's it, okay?" Tony had a caged in look about him, and he jammed his hands in his pockets.

" _Climbing a fence?"_ Steve exclaimed, too angry to notice anything off about Tony's stance, "You almost got me kicked off the team because you didn't want to pay twelve dollars? You're  _rich!"_

"I said it was stupid—"

"Of course it was stupid! How could you be so selfish?"

"Trust me." Tony's mouth was a thin, hard line. "I won't make a mistake like that twice."

"I would hope not!" Steve threw his hands up. "Do you know how hard I worked to get on the team? I could've lost it all over twelve dollars, are you kidding me? Not to mention you could've cracked your damn skull open!"

"Look, if I could undo this stupid soulbond thing I would, okay?" Tony scowled. "But until then there's not a whole lot I can do."

"You…" Steve felt like he'd been hit in the gut, Tony's words a powerful blow completely out of left field. He'd been angry, but he hadn't thought… "You would?"

"Of course I fucking would!" Tony was either oblivious to Steve's shock or didn't care. "But it turns out they're pretty damn permanent, so until I find a solution—"

" _Until_ you—?" Tony was still working on breaking their bond? After all this? That did it. That shouted, bitter comment, like being stuck with Steve was some form of punishment, cut far too deep and Steve couldn't help lashing out. "Well, I didn't ask for any of this crazy soulmate stuff either! You think this is  _easy_ for me? I haven't even had a  _normal_ relationship, and I'm supposed to know how to deal with you and your insane mood swings? I don't know how to deal with this, I don't even know what 'this' is!"

"Yeah, well, I didn't ask to be an omega, either." Tony had a strange look on his face, something very close to hurt, something that under any other circumstances Steve would've stopped to worry about it. As it was, anger obscured his judgment.

"You were  _born_ that way, Tony!" Steve just shouted, the bitterness of Tony's tone still ringing in his head, "You never had a choice, but I did, and I didn't haveto be stuck with this!"

"With me, you mean." Tony's face took on that carefully smooth, expressionless look it did when Tony retreated in on himself. Steve regretted his words immediately. "Yeah, well, I won't drag you down anymore. You go celebrate the win with your friends, I'll let you know when I find a way to fix this."

He turned to leave and Steve grabbed his arm to stop him, to apologize, forgetting momentarily who he was dealing with. Tony jerked his arm away like he'd been burned, betrayal clear as day in his eyes before it was clouded by anger.

"When it comes down to it, you really are just like all the rest, aren't you?"

"Tony, wait, I didn't mean to—"

"I shouldn't have even come," he just muttered before slipping into the crowd, gone in an instant.


	13. Chapter 13

Sunday night rolled around, and Steve was still moping.

He wasn't as subtle about it as he liked to think he was.

"Good Lord, Steven, what are you eating now?" His mother stopped in the doorway to the kitchen, staring at him in surprise.

"Cheerios and tears," Steve muttered into his bowl.

"Dinner was half an hour ago!"

"Still hungry." Steve shrugged, taking another spoonful.

"You two must've had quite a fight." His mother sighed.

"Should I even ask how you know these things?"

"Let's call it a mother's intuition." She sat across from him with an amused look. "Not to mention I haven't seen hide nor hair of him all weekend. Care to talk about it?"

"It's just…he can be so…"

"Stubborn?"

"Impossible," Steve grumbled through a spoonful of cheerios.

"Mouth closed when you're chewing." She smacked his hand. "And I wouldn't go getting too high and mighty there dear, you've been known to be pretty bull-headed yourself."

"I'm not that bad—"

"I was called to the office nineteen times last year."

"It's not  _my_ fault those lacrosse jerks pick on everybody—"

"We're not having this discussion again." She sighed. "I'm happy you have a sense of morality. I wish you'd learn to go about it a bit differently, but what's done is done. What I'm telling you is that you ought to cut the boy a little slack."

"He almost got me kicked off the team!"

"On purpose?"

"I guess not," Steve admitted, "He was just reckless. Which worries me more than the football thing, but if I say I'm worried about him he just gets upset."

"How was he reckless?"

"He did some stupid dare." Steve unsuccessfully tried to stab his cheerios. Cereal wasn't a very good angry food. "I guess he climbed the fence or something and hit his head, which I felt, and it distracted me from making a catch that could've turned into a goal. And I don't mind;I mean, I do, but I'm just glad he's okay. Which is all I was trying to tell him, before he turned it into an argument."

He knew he hadn't handled it well, and he knew he especially shouldn't have grabbed Tony's arm. He hadn't really  _grabbed_ him, but that didn't matter. He knew it made Tony uncomfortable, so he shouldn't have done it, simple as that. The things he'd said hadn't been particularly pretty, either. He'd been angry and hurt, and okay, he was still angry and hurt, but he was aware that saying things like that didn't help. Especially when they were barely true at best.

Yes, Steve technically had a choice—but he would choose Tony. Every time.

"You'll patch things up, Steve." She squeezed his shoulder. "Hopefully soon! Things are dreadfully dull around here without him, you know. I miss my charades partner."

"I still can't believe you stole my mate for a stupid game. That was just low, Mom."

"What can I say?" She laughed. "He's too good for his own good. You should've made it worth his while to pick you."

"You bribed him with cookies you made from scratch! I could've stripped naked and he still would've gone over to your team."

"Steven Grant Rogers." She smacked his shoulder, mock scandalized. "I ought to wash your mouth out."

"Aw, Mom, I'm just kidding."

"I should hope so." She stood, busying herself with the few remaining dishes from dinner. Well, first dinner. "Though I suppose it would've made Mrs. Jennings' week."

Steve choked on his cheerios.

"Mom!"

"Oh, it was a joke." She waved him off. "She changed your diapers, Steven, honestly."

"Is that supposed to make it better somehow? I'm pretty sure that makes it worse."

"You know what we ought to do?" She ignored his protest. "We ought to have a proper game night, invite James and the others over too. Has Tony met your friends?"

"Yeah. Our groups kinda ended up mixed together, actually." Steve shrugged. "And no one calls him James anymore, Mom, he likes Bucky, you know that."

"And you know I don't care a lick what that boy wants to call himself." She waved his correction off. "His mother named him James, James I'll call him. You can invite your new friends too though, we'll make room. You like them, don't you?"

"I think they're great," Steve told her honestly, "Everyone else seems to, too. Jane likes having people to talk science with, Bucky's sweet on Natasha, Sam gets along with Rhodey and Clint like they're brothers, and you know Thor, he's never met someone he didn't like."

"Next Saturday, then," she decided, before catching sight of the hesitance on Steve's face, "Oh, please. Don't act as if you won't have made up by then. You've spent all weekend moping about. I had to go grocery shopping, you've been in such a mood."

"I wasn't  _moping—"_

"You were moping, plain and simple. Get off your bum and apologize."

"But it wasn't my—!"

"Don't be so foolish as to value pride over love, Steven." She sighed. "Who cares whose fault it is? Is there anything he said or did you're unwilling to forgive?"

"Well, no," Steve mumbled, ducking his head to watch his cheerios swim around. Cheerios didn't have to worry about apologies and relationships and pride.

"Then why does it matter who apologizes first? If one of you apologizes, I have no doubt the other will follow, and you'll be able to talk it out instead of moping around waiting for the other to apologize first."

"I guess so." Steve admitted to his cheerios.

"Good." She patted his shoulder. "The night's young. You could take the car, go see him."

"You'd let me take the car?"

"The money spent on gas will be far less than the next grocery bill if you stay in this funk of yours."

"For the last time, I am not an emotional eater!" Steve protested.

"Whatever you have to tell yourself, honey." She kissed his forehead, turning to leave. "Try not to finish off the box."

"Uh…" Steve scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Oh, Steve, tell me you didn't." She turned back around, going to open the trash bin. "I bought that yesterday!"

"It's the easiest thing to eat late at night without waking you up!"

"Tell me you didn't stay up late watching those absurd infomercials and eating your feelings again."

Steve took another guilty bite of cereal in answer.

"Why Tony puts up with your ridiculous behavior, I haven't a clue." She threw her hands up with a sigh. "But he does. So go fix it already, would you? And tell that boy he owes me a box of cheerios."

"Yes, Mom." Steve ducked his head, quickly finishing off his bowl before she decided he'd had enough already.

When he finished, he borrowed the car keys off the shelf in the front hall and headed out. He had his license, though he didn't drive often. They were living on a pretty tight budget, and gas was far too expensive for him to drive around town with his friends whenever he felt like it. Not to mention his mom's job as a nurse meant she kept long, strange hours, so she had it anyway more often than not.

It was only eight when Steve got to Tony's house; no way Tony would be asleep by now, the guy kept hours that would make an insomniac jealous. He parked outside, then typed in the gate code like Tony had shown him. He hadn't been to Tony's house as often as Tony had been to his, but he'd been around, mostly to work on the T6.

He took a deep breath and knocked on the door; it only occurred to him once the door started to open that coming around this late meant Tony might not be the one to greet him.

"No solicitors."

The man in front of him was an imposing figure, though Steve couldn't quite pin down why. He wasn't exceptionally tall or burly. He was maybe a hair over average in height, broad-shouldered, but with a bit of a well-fed paunch; there was nothing intimidating or threatening about his immediate appearance. If anything, he looked immaculate. He had pressed pants, a crisply ironed shirt, and a tailored suit jacket and loosened tie, an ensemble that altogether probably cost more than Steve's house.

Howard Stark, then.

"I'm not a solicitor, sir." Steve was careful to stay respectful. Whatever his private thoughts about Howard, it wouldn't be a good idea to antagonize the man if he wanted to see Tony. "I'm a friend of Tony's."

"Clark?" Howard raised an eyebrow.

"You mean Clint?" Steve frowned, correcting him before he could think better of it.

"Yes, I'm sure." Howard seemed unconcerned. "It's a little late at night for house calls, Clint. You'll see him tomorrow."

"No, I'm not Clint." Steve shook his head, concerned that Howard didn't recognize one of his son's best friends. "I'm Steve. And I'd just like to talk to him for a minute—"

"Tell me something, Steve." Howard leaned against the doorframe casually, and Steve was reminded of how relaxed a panther could look before it pounced. "This…soulmate business. You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?"

How deceptively casual Howard looked seemed dangerous, somehow. Steve remembered how conservative Tony had said his father was, the lengths he went to hiding his Pherex bottles, the way he called his father Howard instead of Dad sometimes, when he forgot to think about it. The last one didn't necessarily mean anything in and of itself, but it stuck out to Steve. Along with everything else, all the other little bits and pieces, it spoke of a disconnect, of some invisible line Tony had drawn that said somewhere along the line Howard had stopped being a father.

Steve remembered clearly how freaked out Tony had been the one day he'd forgotten to take his dose. He remembered Tony all but begging him to stay over; Steve had let him, of course, hadn't needed to be begged by any measure, but something about the way Howard was watching him now, waiting on his answer, made it all click together horribly. It was a long moment before he could convince his heart to beat again, before he could swallow hard and bring himself to answer the question.

"No, sir." Steve shook his head, doing his best to play up the innocent puppy eyes Tony always claimed he had in spite of how sick he felt. "He hasn't said anything to me. Does he have one?"

"You're certain you haven't noticed any new alphas sniffing around him?" Howard's eyes narrowed.

"No, sir."

"Well, I suppose I don't have to worry about you." Howard gave a derisive snort. It took Steve a minute to piece together that Howard assumed having manners meant Steve was a beta.

"No, sir." Steve put on a smile. "Don't have to worry about me."

_Not yet._

"You can talk to him tomorrow." Howard moved to close the door.

"Mr. Stark?" Steve caught the door. Howard raised an eyebrow at him sharply. "Will you tell Tony I stopped by?"

"Certainly." Howard shot him a plastic smile, and closed the door firmly.

* * *

Tony knew exactly why he'd gone to the game.

Every instinct he had told him not to. Seeing Steve was the  _last_ thing he should've done right then; his father would've had an apocalyptic fit the likes of which Tony had never seen had he found out. Yet he'd gone anyway, because there was an ever-growing, despicably pathetic part of him that wanted Steve to know. That wanted Steve to figure it out, to demand answers, to play big bad alpha and snarl that Howard was wrong about Tony, about their bond, about everything. That they'd figure out a better solution, together.

But Tony didn't always get what he wanted.

"Barton, call me back," Tony had told Clint's voicemail on Friday night, "You were right, Steve's an axe murderer."

It had taken Clint less than a minute to call back.

"He is not," Clint had declared without preamble.

"What the fuck?" Tony had scowled. "Don't tell me you're on his side now."

"I'm team Stony. If necessary, that includes the 'St'."

"I have no idea what that means."

"It means your mate's not an axe murderer and you should tell me what's actually going on. Cause I mean, hey, he may not be an axe murderer but if he did hurt you, you know I'll pop him one in the nose, no hesitation. He has the muscles, but I'm like a ninja, all crafty and shit—"

"He's just an ass," Tony had muttered, "Look, I didn't call to talk about it, I called because I need you to lie for me."

"Why should I?"

"Because I'll owe you one."

"You already owe me one. You owe me like ten."

"Look, it's just important that if anyone asks, you say you dared me to climb the fence into the football field instead of paying."

"Dude, your allowance is like a million dollars, why wouldn't you pay for a ticket?"

"I didn't  _actually_ climb the fence, I just need you to say I did. And that you saw me hit my head on the way down."

"Jesus, Tony…" Clint had trailed off, and Tony had given an aggressive sigh. He could already hear Clint putting it together. "This is another 'the door and I had a disagreement, don't worry about it' thing, isn't it?"

"I'm fine. Steve can just feel what happens through the stupid bond so he thinks it's his business."

"Let me guess." Tony had been able to practically  _feel_ Clint rolling his eyes on the other end of the line. "You got defensive, he got concerned, you made it about omegas, he got exasperated, you said something hurtful to make him back off, he said something hurtful because he was hurt, you took it to heart, now we're here. Stop me anytime."

"Fuck off."

"You want me to lie for you? Tell me what really happened."

"Look, it was pretty much like you said, we just said some shit—"

"I know what happened with Steve, your fights are as predictable as they are preventable. I want you to tell me really happened to your head."

"I'll do your homework for a month."

"No."

"Two months."

"Tony."

"I'll join yearbook like you're always asking. One-time offer, Clint."

"Tony." Clint's voice had been far too quiet for Tony's liking. "This is about your dad, isn't it?"

Tony had hung up.

He'd shut off his phone, thrown it on his bed, and headed into the basement. He'd hunkered down in his shop, buried himself in wires and gears and grease, worked off the stress and anger and fear the only way he knew how. He'd spent the weekend down there, only breaking for coffee and naps on the couch he kept down there for just that purpose.

Monday rolled around before he knew it. He had about a hundred missed calls from Steve and Clint and Pepper and Rhodey and pretty much everyone he knew, but he just shoved his phone in his backpack and ignored it. He didn't think Clint would've told Steve, not without actual proof, but he still didn't want to deal with any of them.

Well…maybe Steve. Tony knew, somewhere in the itty bitty corner of his mind that was capable of rational thoughts and Steve thoughts at the same time, that he had over-reacted. He knew Steve wasn't like the others, knew that Steve would never mean anything by grabbing Tony's arm. If he didn't already know purely because of who Steve was as a person, it was obvious enough from the way Steve had let go immediately, from the panicked look he had on his face even before Tony said a word.

But apologizing meant explaining, and that he couldn't do.

Trapped in a miserable catch-22 of wanting things to go back to how they had been and unable to find the words, Tony slunk into class late, yanked his hoodie as far over his head as it went, and went to sleep. The hours passed, and Tony shuffled between classes every hour or so, but he was committed to being conscious for as little time as possible today. Fuck Mondays. He was debating between the bleachers and the roof for hiding from Steve at lunch, when he felt it.

It slammed into him hard and fast, lodging itself between his lungs. He doubled over immediately, putting his head between his knees to try and keep from puking. His head spun wildly, but he had no idea what was going on. It hurt worse than a heat, worse than a beating, worse than  _anything;_ then it was gone.

Steve.

Tony was up and out of his chair in a second. He stumbled over his backpack but didn't waste time getting his things, just took off out the door and down the hallway before anyone could say a word. The fight didn't matter. He didn't know what had happened to Steve just now, but he tried to push that thought through their bond as forcefully as he could. It didn't matter, he didn't care, it was stupid and he'd known he was over-reacting as soon as he'd started to and hadn't been able to stop before everything spiraled but it absolutely positively did not matter.

_It doesn't matter it doesn't matter it doesn't matter._

Tony didn't know why it was so important, but he could feel Steve's need for comfort profoundly. It was like an achingly empty space had ruptured open in his chest, but it was Steve who needed it, so Tony gave; he pushed every feeling of warmth and love and security Steve had ever given him back at him. He filled the space with everything he'd ever thought about Steve, every happy moment they'd had together, every good memory he could think of whether it related to them or not.

The hall monitor, Reed, tried to stop him and ask for a hall pass. Tony shoved him into a locker without breaking his sprint. He didn't have to think about where he was going, just kept running until he got to the office.

"What on earth—?" The secretary looked befuddled when he burst in, but he ignored her and kept going, cutting around the row of kids waiting to talk to Principal Fury and went inside.

"What the—Stark? Get out!" Principal Fury shouted when Tony skidded into his office, but Tony wasn't listening.

Steve was in one of the chairs in front of Nick's desk, his head in his hands, his shoulders bunched up and tense. He looked horrible, probably because he was still feeling whatever Tony had felt just a moment ago, and he had the beginnings of what might be tears in his eyes.

Nick stepped in front of him, bodily blocking off Steve, and ex _cuse_ him, no, that was not okay.

"Let me in," Tony demanded.

"Go back to class, Stark, this is a personal matter—"

"What happened? Steve, what happ—?"

"How did you even get in here?" Nick made a gesture to his secretary along the lines of 'what the hell were you thinking?'.

"He just ran in, like he was possessed!" She sputtered.

"My mom." Tony couldn't see Steve around their stupid principal, but he heard him just fine. "My mom, there was an accident, they don't think—they don't—"

He stuttered and dropped off, but it was enough.

"Stark, get back to class. Now isn't the time—"

"He's my alpha," Tony snarled darkly, " _Move_  or I will  _move you."_

Tony didn't wait for a response, didn't even consider the weight of what he'd said, just ducked under Nick's arm and over to Steve's side.

"Hey, it's okay, it's gonna be okay." Steve collapsed against him wordlessly, and Tony held him close, reassured Steve in spite of his own fears. "She's tough, y'know? She's—she's gonna be fine, of course she's gonna be fine, are you kidding? She's gonna call us fussy worrywarts for stressing at all and tell us to get our butts back to school. She's gonna be fine, Steve, everything, everything is gonna be fine, okay?"

Steve didn't make a sound, just clutched Tony's shirt so tightly his hands shook.

"She's at a hospital somewhere, right?"

Steve nodded.

"Do you know which one?

Another nod.

"My car's in the lot, I'll drive you."

"Stark—"

"I'll go to detention later, okay?" Tony dismissed Fury's sputtering rage. "Suspend me, if you feel like it."

Tony ignored any further comment, hauling Steve up—it was terrifying how limp he was—and leading him out.

"Talk to me, Steve. Where are we going?"

"Memorial." Steve's voice was small, quiet. "It's where she works. She was on her way there. That's—that's what Fury said. Tony, he also—he said she might not—"

He choked on the words.

"What do you think she'd say about giving up on her so quickly, huh?" Tony squeezed Steve's hand. "She'd call you a fool, that's what."

"Tony, I…I'm sorry, about—"

"Not important." Tony led the way into the parking lot, pulling his keys out of his hoodie pocket with his free hand. "Completely and utterly irrelevant right now, okay? I'm sorry too, let's just—let's call it even, at least for now. You want to talk about it more, we can do it once your mom's home safe and sound, alright?"

Steve nodded mutely. Tony was about to let Steve's hand go so they could get in the car, but thought better of it. He pulled Steve back into his arms instead, hugging him as tight as he could manage. Steve crumbled against him, and it took every ounce of strength Tony had to hold the linebacker up, but he barely noticed.

"Hey." He pulled back just a bit, enough to take Steve's face in his hands and tell him firmly, "She's going to be okay."

Steve just swallowed thickly.

"You gotta believe that, Steve." Tony released his face and pulled him back into the embrace. "Your mom's crazy tough. I bet she's totally fine. We're gonna go, and get all worked up, and she's just gonna yell at us for ditching school."

Steve gave a small, watery laugh. "She would."

"She  _will."_ Tony released him reluctantly. "Let's go get yelled at, alright?"

"Alright, Tony." Steve shot him a thin, flimsy smile.

Steve didn't say a word the entire way over. Barely even breathed, just sat in the passenger seat, still as a statue, looking out the window like the passing scenery held all the answers. Tony, on the other hand, couldn't stop talking. He kept a running commentary, the words "fine" "okay" and "alright" making up the majority of his babble. He tapped the steering wheel at rapid fire pace, too fast to be any sort of beat, just a nervous tick he couldn't manage to shut off.

He broke the speed limit the entire way over, and Steve didn't say a word.

Steve went eerily pale once they arrived, and the moment Tony had the car in park, he opened the door and took off. Tony swore, yanked out his keys, and followed as quick as he was able. Steve was faster than him by a longshot though, and by the time Tony made it into reception he was gone.

"Hey, you see a big blonde guy in a panic?" Tony questioned the guy working the desk, someone with the name badge Isaac.

"Steve?"

"Yeah."

"He's Sarah's son, he's in with her."

"I know, I'm here to see her too. Where is she?"

"She's in the ICU—"

" _Fuck,"_ Tony swore loudly, ignoring the harsh glare he earned from a mother, "ICU? That means it's bad, right? Oh god, it can't be bad, it can't, I mean, how the fuck is that fair? She's, she's…"

Tony couldn't come up with an end to that sentence. He knew rationally that bad things happened to good people and bad people and everyone in between, but that didn't stop his brain from telling him this didn't compute. How could something like this happen to someone like Sarah Rogers?

Everyone loved her, and she loved everyone; hell, she helped save lives for a living. She was kind-hearted and patient, and made people feel welcome without trying, made them feel loved and special and accepted. The idea that anything  _bad_ could happen to someone so  _good_ just made Tony's head hurt.

He could still hear her calling him "that boy" the way most people would say "my boy".

"—mean, what even happened? Steve said she was in some kind of car accident, but she's at the hospital, so that's good, right, you guys can—can help her, right? Obviously, that's what you do, you fix people, you can fix her, of course you can—"

Tony was mildly aware he was still babbling, but he couldn't have stopped if he'd tried. He hadn't been able to think about it or freak out in front of Steve, it wouldn't have helped anything if they were both panicking, but with Steve gone it was starting to hit him.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to calm down." Isaac stood up, leaning over the desk to lay a hand on Tony's shoulder. "Sarah has a chance of recovery, but—"

"A  _chance?"_ Tony felt like he'd been sucker-punched.

"Are you a relative?"

"I'm Steve's brother," Tony lied immediately, sensing an opportunity.

"Let me guess, identical twins?" Isaac said wryly.

"I'm, uh, adopted—"

"Right." Isaac didn't even bother pretending he bought it. "Go with cousin, everyone here has heard the adopted sibling line a thousand times. Up the elevator four floors and to your left, it's 415B."

"Thank you," Tony blurted, and took off down the hallway.


	14. Chapter 14

He should've taken the stairs. He could've run faster than this stupid elevator was moving. It had to stop every floor to let people on, and Tony got shoved into the back corner by a guy in a hospital robe who smelled like antiseptic and disease. God, he was going to catch the plague in this place. The doors dinged, and Tony squeezed through hospital robe guy and a nurse to propel himself out of the elevator and onto the fourth floor. He turned down the hallway and scanned the door numbers. 413, 414—

Fuck.

Steve was curled up in a ball outside 415B, his head buried in his arms, his shoulders shaking as he sobbed. Tony glanced through the small window—there were two nurses and a doctor inside, rushing around in a way that could mean nothing good. He only caught a glimpse, but she looked unconscious, hooked up to too many machines to count. She had one of those masks covering her face, something Tony couldn't remember the name of but knew meant she couldn't breathe on her own. The left side of her face was swollen and spotted with dark, angry purple bruises.

The sound of Steve's sobs brought Tony back from his state of petrified horror and he moved forward, sitting next to Steve and pulling him into his arms. The angle was sort of awkward, but Steve just buried his face in Tony's lap and cried even harder. Focusing on the thought of what Steve's mom was going through made him feel sick and panicky and terrified, so he focused on Steve, rubbed shaky, slow circles on his back and babbled comfort. The words were meaningless, they both knew this was so ludicrously far from okay, but it was all Tony could think to do.

It was nearly an hour before someone came out, during which Steve's distress quieted but didn't cease. The doctor didn't question Tony's presence, for which Tony would've been thankful if he had the brainspace to think anything but  _oh god please be good news._ Tony squeezed Steve's shoulder to let him know someone had come out. Steve lifted his head like it weighed more than the world itself, his eyes lighting with fear and hope at the sight of the doctor. He scrambled up, wiping his eyes and straightening his shoulders, preparing himself for whatever blow was next.

"Is there anyone else we can contact?" The doctor didn't give them news, instead asking gently, "Your father, maybe? He's not listed in her emergency contacts."

"He died." Steve swayed, leaning into Tony a bit. Tony got the feeling it wasn't consciously. "Long time ago."

"I see." The doctor gave an anxious frown. "Steve, I'm afraid your mother's going to need surgery. There were some complications we weren't expecting. She's still got a fair chance, but the procedure we need to do…well, it's fairly complex, which means—"

"It's expensive," Steve said quietly.

"I'm afraid so. Her health insurance covers only the basic treatment, but without this surgery the odds of recovery are—"

"Do it," Tony said immediately.

"Tony—"

"Hey, don't worry." Tony slung an arm over Steve's shoulders in what he hoped looked cousin-y to the doctor. "Uncle Howard will be more than happy to pay for it."

He watched the gears turn in Steve's mind. Steve had never been one to take charity, but there was nothing he wouldn't do for his mother and they both knew it.

"Yeah." Steve nodded softly. "Yeah."

"I'm his cousin." Tony told the doctor. "Our half of the family's loaded. Whatever she needs, wants, dreams of—consider it paid for."

"Call your parents, have them come in and set that up with the front desk." The doctor looked relieved. He must've worked with Sarah, and probably cared about her as much as everyone else who ever came into contact with her did. "We unfortunately can't do anything further until he does, but the sooner the better—"

"Then I'll be right back." Tony started off down the hall, and Steve clutched his hand desperately. The thought of freaking out about Steve grabbing him didn't even appear as a blip on Tony's radar. He turned back immediately, already concerned. "What? What's wrong, what do you need?"

"Just—wait, please." Steve glanced between him and the doctor. "Is there anything else?"

"You can hear the details of your mother's condition afterwards, if you prefer," the doctor told him.

"Thank you, Dr. Anderson." Steve nodded to the doctor, apparently Dr. Anderson, then followed after Tony. Once Dr. Anderson went back into the room, Steve took his hand again, his voice as soft as his grip wasn't. "I just—I'd rather not be alone right now."

"You won't have to be." Tony squeezed his hand back. "I promise. But I'm going to need Howard's card to pay for a surgery; mine has a limit that probably won't be enough. Of course you can come with me, but if you want to stay, I understa—"

"I don't." Steve clenched and unclenched his fists, anxious and miserable. "I can't go in with her, I can't do anything here or there or anywhere, and I just, if I can't do anything, I at least…please, I don't want to be alone."

"Steve." Tony pulled Steve into his arms again. Steve buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck and let out a heavy, shaky breath, collapsing against him. "I promise, you're not alone, and you're not going to be alone. I'm not going anywhere unless you want me to, alright?"

"I don't want you to."

"Then I won't."

They stayed there, holding each other up until Steve was able to start moving again, and they walked out to the car quickly but quietly. They didn't talk during the car ride to Tony's either, until Steve brought it up.

"Tony…" Steve looked at him carefully. "Under any other circumstances—"

"You're a strong independent woman who don't need no sugar daddy," Tony joked, the situation so heavy and surreal that he couldn't help it, "I know. But it's your mom, Steve."

"Don't be so foolish as to value pride over love," Steve murmured.

"That something she told you?"

"Yeah."

"Sounded like it." Tony nodded, a hint of a smile. "You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because she's always right." Steve gave just the barest flicker of a smile, there and gone in an instant. "Besides, I can afford it. Well, Howard can."

"I met him last night," Steve told him after a period of silence. His gaze was focused out the window instead of at Tony, which was probably good considering Tony's reaction was a full-body flinch. He only narrowly kept himself from slamming on the brakes.

"You  _what?"_

"By accident." Steve spoke in the same calm tone as before. "I came over to apologize. It didn't occur to me until I was there that he might be home."

"He—you didn't say we—" Tony was having a hard time breathing, much less driving.

"He asked." Steve was still looking out the window instead of at him. "I said I didn't know you had a soulmate."

"I swear to god I could kiss you right now."

"I'm certainly not opposed." Steve finally looked at him, a sliver of a smile flickering over his features before it disappeared again. "But do you know why I didn't tell him?"

"Because you're perfect?"

"Because I think you're afraid of him, Tony. I think he hurts you. Am I wrong?"

"I don't think this is the time for this conversation."

"You and me both." Steve gave a humorless laugh. "But you're about to steal his money, so I can't help being a little concerned about what that might mean for you."

"It doesn't matter what it means." Tony shook his head, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. "What matters is paying for that surgery."

"I agree, but there are other ways. I can get one of those payment plans, work it off. I'd rather be in debt for a couple years than have him hurt you."

"Steve, it's not….it's not that bad." It was just a white lie, really. Barely even a lie. "I'm not made of glass, you know? He'll be a little angry for a few days, but it'll blow over. That, versus years of debt for you? It's not a big deal, I can take it—"

"Child abuse is a  _very_ big deal, Tony, how can you—"

"I'm not exactly a child, thanks—"

"You're his child," Steve said firmly, "And child or not, no one should have laid a hand on you. I certainly won't give him an excuse to do it again."

"I'm sensing protective alpha mode is engaging."

"You know, you writing my emotions off as an alpha thing? It's just as dismissive as me saying you getting defensive is an omega thing." Steve gave him a pointed look. "It's protective  _Steve_  mode, and you're damn right it's engaging."

"Can we maybe not—"

"I'm not taking your money if it means you get hurt, Tony, end of story." Steve seemed to have come to a conclusion. "Take me back to the hospital."

"I'm not going to just do nothing while your mom's in the hospital!" Tony finally came to a stop outside his house, and he put the car in park before turning to Steve, slamming a hand on the steering wheel for emphasis. "Goddamn, Steve. This is the only thing I can  _do,_ okay? I've got access to money. Let me put it to good use for once in my life."

"It's not the only thing you can do." Steve leaned across the divider to take Tony's hand. "You're helping, I swear to God you are. The fact that I don't have to deal with this alone is the only reason I'm not still in pieces right now. I don't need your money, Tony. I need you."

There was a long pause. How did someone like Steve even exist, much less want anything to do with someone like Tony? He didn't know, and he was done questioning it; he knew what he had to do. He leaned across the divider, kissing Steve hard and fast before letting go of his hand and charging out of the car.

"Tony? Tony!"

Steve seemed stunned enough by the kiss that his reaction time was slowed, and it was enough for Tony to get through the gate, slam it shut, and press the burglar alarm on the other side. Steve caught up quick and punched in the code, but the burglar alarm rendered it useless.

"Tony, I swear to God, don't you dare—"

"Remember what you told me you'd do in a fire?"

"Yes. Why?" Steve frowned, clearly confused about why that mattered.

"Well, back at you. I'm going to do what's best for you, and you can bitch at me about it later," Tony told him, turning around and sprinting into the house.

He had maybe fifteen minutes before the cops showed up, so he raced up the stairs and darted into his room, going straight for the hollowed out book on his shelf. It was a thick, dry academia book no one would ever bother with, and he flipped it open now to pull out the credit card he had in Howard's name, and the fake ID he had naming him as Howard Stark. There was other stuff too, a couple thousand dollars in cash, postcards of Malibu, California, and maps of the Greyhound routes he'd have to take to get there.

It had been a part of his plan to run away some years ago. He'd always told himself he would leave, told himself next time, next time he would get on the earliest Greyhound and never look back, but it'd just…never happened. He'd never made a conscious decision that the plan was off, just sort of postponed it, over and over, because maybe the scrawny, blond artist two rows in front of him had smiled in what might've been Tony's direction that day, and what could holding onto one more day of that smile hurt?

Tony grabbed the card, ID and cash, shoved it in his pockets and dashed back outside; no sign of the cops yet. Good. He deactivated the alarm and opened the gate, only to bump into a steaming mad Steve.

"You can't just distract me like that every time you want to get away with something!"

"Worked, didn't it?" Tony unlocked the car. "Get in, the cops'll be here soon."

"The  _cops?"_ Steve sputtered.

"I hit the burglar alarm, it's why your code didn't work. Now come on, I have a record, remember?"

"That's not funny!" Steve protested, but he got in the car.

"It's a little funny." Tony grinned, starting it up.

Steve just made a face, turning to look out the window and ignore him in moody silence. Tony didn't care. Okay, he did, but he'd rather Steve was mad for a little while instead of in debt for the next decade—"a few years" his ass, surgery was expensive—and that his mom got the luxuries she deserved instead of the bare minimum. They peeled out of the neighborhood, and it wasn't until they were parked back at the hospital that Steve finally spoke to him, stopping him by the car.

"Move in with me."

"I'm confused, weren't you just mad?"

"Still am. Will you?"

"Uh, moving a little fast there, don't you think?" Tony tried to play it off. As desperately as he may have wanted that, Steve couldn't possibly understand the gravity of what he was saying. "What would your mom say about decorum?"

"You know damn well she'd say you're always welcome under our roof."

"I could be wrong, but most people actually, y'know,  _date_  before they move in together."

"So go on a date with me."

"You're insane—" Tony started to turn away with a laugh.

"I'm in love." Steve told him firmly. "There's a difference, though not much of one sometimes. But if someone's hurting you, do you really think I'm going to give a damn about, about decorum, or dates, or anything else that isn't your safety?"

Tony was frozen to the spot. Steve wasn't. He stepped into Tony's space, and Tony waited for the alarms to go off, for the bells to ring in his head about alpha danger and escape routes, but nothing happened. If anything, he wanted Steve closer.

That alone scared the hell out of him.

"If you swipe that card, steal that money? I want you where I can protect you. It's not an alpha thing, it's not an omega thing, it's a you are precious to me and my skin crawls at the thought of him touching you thing." Steve's voice wavered towards the end, the truth in his words potent and obvious. "Please. You want to help me, then let me help you too."

Fuck.

His heart in his throat, Tony could do nothing but dig both hands into Steve's shirt and yank him forward, crashing their lips together with careless, needy fervor. Steve returned his enthusiasm, enveloping Tony in both arms and holding him close enough that Tony's own arms protested the cramped angle. He slipped them out and around Steve's neck, surging forward to try and pour everything he had into the kiss.

How long it went on, he couldn't have said. It was different than any time before; there was more fire, more passion than the innocent liplocks they'd stolen before in abandoned hallways and under Steve's covers. It wasn't that either of them took less care, exactly, and more that there was a level of unreserved familiarity that hadn't been there before. Tony could feel Steve's reaction easily, a similarly jumbled swell of gratitude, affection, and hope.

"Is that a yes?" Steve asked. They hadn't parted far, and Tony could feel Steve's chest expand against his in a breathless inhale, his huffed exhale mingling with Tony's own.

"It was mostly an I love you." He was admittedly a bit breathless himself. "But, hey. I'm sure there was a yes in there somewhere."

"Promise me."

"Sure." Tony agreed amicably.

"Do you even know what I'm asking you to promise?" Steve rolled his eyes fondly.

"I might be a little dazed at the moment."

"Come on." Steve pressed an all too brief and far too chaste kiss to Tony's lips before tugging him along. "You promise, if I let you pay, you'll come live with me?"

"I'm not sure this is a fair deal." Tony frowned, though he let himself be led. "I get to do everything I want, and you get stuck with a houseguest crashing on your couch for a year and half."

"You're right, that's not even close to fair," Steve told him without looking back, "A year and a half isn't nearly long enough."

"Steve, I mean it—"

"And  _I_ mean it." Steve shot him a look over his shoulder. "Tony, you're my soulmate—"

"You still have a choice, you said it yourself—"

"And I." Steve turned, using Tony's forward momentum to kiss him without warning. "Choose." Another kiss. "You."

The last kiss was longer, lingering, and Tony could feel Steve pouring every inch of love he had into Tony's half of the bond. It was overwhelming, and Tony staggered back under the sheer weight of it.

"You didn't ask," Tony blurted, surprised more at his own lack of a reaction than Steve's initiative.

"I took a chance."

"I could use a few more chances," he decided eventually, his lips still tingling. He shot Steve a wry smirk. "Man, we can't do anything the right way."

"As long as we're together, does it matter?" Steve raised a hand, stroking his thumb over Tony's cheek.

"Steve Rogers, total sap." Tony rolled his eyes, but it was fond. "I never would've guessed."

"But you agree."

"Duh." Tony turned his head enough to kiss Steve's thumb. "Are you ready to go in?"

They were only a few feet from the building, and Tony made a nodding sort of head gesture towards the sliding doors. Steve just looked at them cautiously, remembering the gravity of the situation his mom was still in all too quickly. He didn't say anything.

"If you're not, I can go pay alone, it'll only take a few minutes—"

"No." Steve took a deep breath, releasing both it and Tony at once. "Let's just…go."

"Okay." Tony went to take Steve's hand, then stopped himself. "Uh. Cousins."

"Right."

Almost the moment they stepped over the threshold, Isaac waved them down.

"Steve, good to see you. You ran out in a helluva hurry."

"Been a hell of a day." Steve sighed, leaning against the counter. "We had to go to my cousins' house to get his credit card, he's paying for the surgery."

"Of course." Isaac nodded, his tone light and easy as he shuffled through a stack of papers for the right file. "So, do you kiss all your cousins like that?"

"I'm sorry?" Steve's entire face went bright red, and the elbow he was leaning against the counter slipped. Tony made a choked sort of noise that might've been a laugh before he stifled it.

"Those doors are see-through, you know." Isaac snorted. "Man, Steve, you were into it. I thought you were going to dip him like in one of those black and white flicks."

"And why would I be the dippee and not the dipper?" Tony demanded.

" _Could_  you dip Steve?" Isaac sized Steve up, eying his general bulk. "Without dropping him, that is."

"Rude." Tony scowled. "I totally could."

"Whatever you say." Isaac snorted. Tony barely turned an inch in Steve's direction before receiving a warning look.

"Do not even think about dipping me in the middle of a hospital waiting room."

"But Steve—"

"No," Steve told him firmly.

"Here we are." Isaac just laughed at them in amusement. He found the correct file, glanced at it, then at them apologetically. "We've got a couple of great payment plans, but I have to warn you, it's pretty steep—"

"Forget the plans." Tony stepped forward, pulling out the card and sliding it across the counter. "I can cover it."

"Are you sure about that, uh…" Isaac picked it up. "Howard?"

"Howie." Tony waved him off casually. If Steve was caught off guard by the name change, he didn't show it. "And trust me, I'm sure. Let's just do the whole thing, one payment. Keep it simple."

Isaac stared at him a moment, then looked at Steve.

"You're not selling that pretty body of yours to this weirdo, are you?"

"Hey, only 'this weirdo' gets to call him pretty." Tony narrowed his eyes at Isaac. Steve flushed a bit, but elbowed Tony.

"Isaac, Howie." Steve rolled his eyes, though his ears were still pink, "Of course not. Howie here just insisted on paying."

"Whatever you say." Isaac chuckled. "Okay, your total here is going to come to—"

"Just swipe it," Tony interrupted quickly, holding out the card. If Steve heard the price, he'd do something stupid, like change his mind, or try to pay Tony back.

"Alright." Isaac shrugged. "ID?"

Tony flashed his fake ID. Isaac barely glanced at it, just nodded and ran Howard's card.

"You cleared." Isaac clicked something on his computer, scanning the screen. "Good. So, it looks like Sarah will be out of surgery in a couple hours. She'll still be here for at least a few days though, so if you want to go get your things, now would be a good time to do it."

"What do you mean, out of surgery?" Steve frowned.

"Ellie and I convinced Dr. Anderson there was no way a Rogers would leave a debt unpaid." Isaac shook his head with a smile. "We got him to start in on surgery while you were off getting your finances together."

"Are you kidding me? Oh my God, thank you so much, Isaac!" Steve leaned across the counter to hug Isaac tight. "We'll go get what we need. You said a couple hours?"

"Should be three, maybe four." Isaac nodded. "It's a pretty intensive procedure, but it's a good one and Dr. Anderson's one of the best. Sarah's got a real good shot, Steve."

"Yeah?" Steve gave a real smile.

"Yeah." Isaac grinned back.

"Okay, lovebirds," Tony grumbled, "Break it up."

"You're ridiculous." Steve rolled his eyes at Tony fondly. "Come on."

Before Tony could properly warn the guy—"my soulmate not yours no touchy" was a proper warning, right?—Steve led him back out, already talking again.

"Let's get your things first. Your dad's still not home, right?"

"I guess not, but—wait, that, the moving in thing, you meant now?"

"I know I'm pushing." Steve's voice went soft. "If you just want to go home, take few days, I'll be—it's fine."

_I can't go in with her, I can't do anything here or there or anywhere, and I just, if I can't do anything, I at least…please, I don't want to be alone._

"Don't be stupid." Tony pulled Steve in by the waist, kissing him hard, murmuring against his lips, "I'm not leaving you."

Steve melted against him. The kisses were lazy and indulgent, more gestures of comfort than anything else. Steve swayed into him, clutching his arms like Tony was the only steady thing left in his world.

* * *

Tony was loading Butterfingers onto a dolly when Dum-E bumped him. He ignored the bot, like he usually did; Dum-E was clumsy, and he was busy. He and Steve had been in the basement for almost an hour now, clearing out Tony's personal projects. He'd rented out a storage space using the cash he'd saved up, and they were going to store the bots there until they could find a better solution than leaving them behind to be dismantled.

The second, third, and fourth time Dum-E bumped him were harder to ignore.

"What, Dum-E?" Tony turned, exasperated. "I'm trying to load your brother, what do you want that could be so much more…important…"

Dum-E had Steve's notebook in his claw.

It was a new one, one Tony had only seen him using recently. The last time he'd seen it had been a few days ago, when they'd come down to work on the T6—something that was rapidly becoming less his and more their project—and Steve had brought it out. They'd taken a break from the T6, and Tony had accidentally gotten buried in a different project. He'd looked up almost four hours later to find Steve not only still there, but perfectly content.

He'd alternated between sketching and playing fetch with Dum-E, completely at home in what should've been Tony's private space. Weirder still was how  _not_ weird it was; Tony hadn't felt any desire to kick Steve out or move him along. He'd just teased Steve about being better friends with Dum-E than him, and tried to sneak a peek at his work for the hundredth time.

Could Steve have left it on purpose?

Tony glanced over at him. He was asleep on the couch, unconscious in the kind of boneless sleep only afforded to the truly weary. He probably hadn't left it on purpose, he'd probably just forgotten it and didn't know where.

Tony was so impossibly, blisteringly curious. He'd been curious for going on three years now. He'd gotten detention for getting up too much to try and look at Steve's notebook, had tried to buy off other students to switch seats, had peeked over Steve's shoulder at every opportunity, but he'd been cut off at the pass every time, by teachers and students and Steve himself.

Tony wasn't particularly known for his self-control. It took every ounce he had not to flip the notebook open then and there, but he was trying to be better for Steve. A better person, a better mate, a better everything. They were in an actual relationship now; hell, Steve  _loved_ him. What kind of mate would invade his privacy like that? Not the kind Steve deserved, that was for sure.

"Good boy." Tony patted Dum-E, accepting the notebook carefully.

He stood and walked over to the couch, crouching next to Steve. He was completely out, that was for certain, and he didn't so much as stir at Tony's fingers carding gently through the soft blond hair by the nape of his neck. Tony placed the notebook next to Steve on the couch, then returned to work moving his bots.

It was another hour before Steve woke up, and this time it was with Tony pressed against his back, an arm slung around his waist. Tony himself was half-awake at best, comfortably fading out of consciousness as Steve was fading in.

"Tony?"

"No, it's Isaac. I've come to steal you away from your weirdo boyfriend."

"Tony." Steve laughed. "You aren't actually jealous, are you?"

"No." Tony buried his nose between Steve's shoulder blades, smelling the cinnamon and apples scent that was all Steve, letting the sense of  _mate_ and  _mine_ and  _home_ wash over him like a particularly possessive wave. "Unless I should be."

Steve wiggled, turning onto his other side so they were facing each other. He cupped Tony's face in both hands, tugging him into a soft, lingering kiss.

"I keep thinking you can't get any more ridiculous," Steve told him with an amused smile, "And you keep proving me wrong."

"Should I take offence to that?"

"I've met Isaac twice, as someone my mom works with, and he's at least a decade older than me. If you're going to get jealous that easily, we're going to have a problem."

"'m not jealous," Tony muttered into Steve's chest, "Why would I be jealous? You're mine."

"Sure am." Steve kissed Tony's forehead.

For a few minutes they just stayed like that, comfortable and content in each other's arms, drifting on the edges of consciousness.

"Oh." Tony remembered after a moment. "I found your notebook."

"My…" Steve didn't get it for a minute, then froze. "Oh. Notebook. You didn't…?"

"Nah." Tony shook his head. "That'd be sort of a shitty thing to do, don't you think? I just put it next to the couch."

"Thank you, Tony."

"Course." Tony scooted closer. "Still itching to see it someday, though."

There was a moment of quiet, then Steve rolled to reach around Tony, fumbling at the side table until he got a hand on it. He sat up and Tony followed his lead, shaking his head to clear the fog of almost-sleep from his mind. Steve was brushing a hand over the cover of the notebook in his lap, and Tony leaned into him, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder.

"I was going to give this to you," Steve admitted, "When I was finished with it. It was going to be…I was going to use it to tell you I love you, though I suppose I should've expected I'd fumble that one long before I was ever satisfied with this."

Steve passed the notebook to him. Tony didn't remove his chin from Steve's shoulder, just accepted it carefully and turned his head enough to catch Steve's eye.

"You're sure?"

Steve kissed him in answer. When they parted, Tony opened the notebook.

He was on the first page. He was with Rhodey and Clint, sitting at a half-formed lunch table. Rhodey and Clint were blurred, more stand-ins than anything, but Tony was detailed to the letter. It was like looking through a focused lens, everything secondary to the subject the artist wanted to see.

Tony turned the pages slowly, reverently; it was him every time. Him with friends, him with Steve, him with Dum-E. Him under the T6, him sleeping in class, him doing an experiment. Him with a triumphant grin, beating Steve and his mom at Uno. Him with sleep-mussed hair and drool on his cheek, asleep in Steve's bed. Him with a sneaky expression, pretending he was reading instead of watching Steve work. Him in a ratty, grease-stained undershirt, donning welding gloves and goggles. Him engulfed in a hoodie far too big for him, earbuds in as he ignored the world. Him with only a towel hanging low on his hips, his hair wild, his body still freshly soaked from the shower.

That one was outright pornographic by Steve Rogers's standards, and Tony was stunned he would want to sketch it at all, but it was the detail that really blew him away. Steve had only seen him naked once, topless maybe a few more times, but Tony could've looked in a mirror and found little difference. Steve knew where he had muscle and where he was a little soft, knew the small triangle of freckles over his hip, knew every little imperfection like he'd mapped them a thousand times instead of just the once.

"How…?" Tony couldn't find the words to form a proper sentence. "The detail…we only…it was just the once."

"I thought it would only ever be the once," Steve answered softly, "I thought it was all I'd ever have of you; I paid attention."

"You wanted the lights on." Tony remembered. Remembered the way Steve had stuttered over saying he wanted to see what he was doing, when he'd probably meant to say…he'd wanted to see him.

"I did."

As Tony continued through the pages, they became harder and harder to see. Something kept making his vision all blurred and watery, and Tony rubbed at his eyes to make it go away. It was stupid, but there was nothing to be done for it. One of Steve's many infuriating habits was his ability to make Tony irrationally, inexplicably emotional at the drop of a hat.

"You mean it."

"Mean what?"

"You love me," Tony murmured. He was still looking at the pages, the careful pencil strokes, the affection and yearning in every line. "You actually love me."

"It worries me how surprised you sound." Steve frowned.

"I didn't think it'd actually happen," Tony admitted, "This…soulmate stuff? I'm a little fucked up in the head, if you hadn't noticed. I kind of just figured there wasn't one, for me, or that I wouldn't find them. But then when I did find you, all I could think of was Howard, and how I couldn't live my life loving someone who treated me the way he treats my mom." Tony glanced up ruefully. "She still loves him, you know? Differently, but. Still. It's why she drowns herself in guilt and blame all day instead leaving him, or even just stopping him. I can tell sometimes, when she looks at him a certain way, or when he says something cruel and she just…freezes, with this look on her face, like, like…like she can't understand how she got here. And I love you. I do. But loving you terrifies me, because I have to wonder if in twenty years you became like him…would I stay too?"

Steve kissed Tony softly. It was chaste, but Steve lingered, pushing empathy and remorse and love, boundless love, into Tony's half of the bond. Tony pushed it back, not rejecting but sharing, matching Steve's devotion with his own.

"I can't answer that for you." Steve stroked his thumbs over Tony's hands when they parted, then squeezed them tight. "But I can promise that you will never have to find out."


	15. Chapter 15

Steve was officially excused from school; Tony was not.

Mysteriously, his absence went unmarked in the system anyway, and no calls were made to his parents. They knew this for a fact, since Tony had long swapped out the phone numbers and a call to the parents of Tony Stark would have been directed right to his cell. Steve questioned Tony about it, but he swore up and down that he hadn't messed with the attendance—he admitted he'd been  _going_ to, but when he'd logged into the system, he'd already been marked as present.

Which worked out for the best, because Tony had made it very clear he wasn't going anywhere.

Steve wasn't sure what he'd expected, exactly. It wasn't like he'd thought Tony would just turn around and leave him alone to go back to school like nothing had happened, but he never could've imagined…well, any of it. Tony was  _doting_ on him, there was no other word for it. Any time a thought so much as flickered through Steve's mind, Tony knew and acted on it immediately.

When his mom had first come out of surgery and they'd thought she would wake up, Tony had sat next to him in perfect silence for over five hours. Tony didn't do silence easily, but Steve would've hated to hear him talk. To hear meaningless platitudes about how it was going to be alright, or how everything would be okay. He'd thought the surgery would fix everything, and it hadn't; he'd needed time to process. He hadn't wanted Tony to  _leave,_ not by any measure. He'd needed Tony's presence, needed something to hold on to, but he wasn't sure he could've handled any more attempts at comfort. Tony hadn't tried, hadn't even needed to hear Steve ask him to be quiet. He'd just sat with him in that sterile, bleak room for hours, holding Steve's hand and waiting. Tony had given him exactly what he needed without Steve having to say a word.

When visiting hours ended, Tony had led him out with a firm hand on his back; Steve recognized in retrospect he'd been too lost in his own mind to have left otherwise. Tony had stayed up with him through all hours of the night, and had done so every day since. Steve could admit he'd been a bit of a rollercoaster, snapping from good mood to bad in the space of seconds, if that. Tony had been so endlessly patient that Steve only realized his irrational—understandable, but still irrational—behavior after the fact.

When Steve was in a good mood, things were good. They talked a lot, about everything that wasn't Steve's mom's health or Tony's dad's impending reaction to their theft. They talked about their friends, swapping stories about adventures they'd been roped into and gossiping about Bucky and Natasha's eventual relationship that was obvious to everyone but them. They laughingly admitted they'd probably—alright, definitely—been seen the same way. They talked about Steve's art and Tony's engineering, about their plans, about colleges and careers and goals for future.

While they talked, they played card games. Partially because it was familiar and Tony was rapidly becoming a challenging opponent, but largely because it was portable; they spent every available visiting hour in his mother's room. When visiting hours were closed and Steve was still in a good mood, they also watched a fair amount of movies. It was mostly dirty comedies and predictable action flicks, no deep thought, just the warmth of Tony's arms around him as they laughed at corny dick jokes and watched superspies save the world with only seconds to spare.

It was everything Steve had hoped for that first night at the party, in the few split seconds between bonding and reality.

Which made the downswings of his moodiness all the worse. One minute they were cuddling up and watching a movie like any other couple, the next Steve would get moody and sullen and snap when Tony tried to ask about it, stomping off to his room like a four year old in a temper tantrum. He didn't understand why he did it. All he'd wanted for weeks, months,  _years_ was to have Tony this close, but in the space of seconds he'd go from satisfied to suffocated.

Worst of all, Tony never even flinched. He let Steve stomp off, let him snap and growl and even shout, staying completely passive no matter how Steve reacted. This only served to frustrate him more, of course, until he ended up retreating to his room to crawl into bed, pull the covers over his head, and try to sleep off the weight of the world. It would work well for an hour or two, until he felt cold and lonely and ended up back in the living room apologizing guiltily to a completely unaffected Tony who just told him to quit it with the apologies and let him curl up in his arms again.

It was an emotional few days, to say the least.

Their friends popped in and out, but none of them stayed very long. The more people came around to tell him how sorry they were and give him those pitying looks, the more he felt suffocated and irritable. It was Tony who always played the bad guy though, shooing them out with all sorts of bullshit reasons so Steve didn't have to say he didn't want them there.

A few of Tony's friends came by too, but that was probably because the line between Tony's friends and his own was blurring fast. They trusted him to be good to Tony, even Clint after Sunday night.

After meeting Howard Stark and piecing everything together, Steve had tracked down and gone to see Tony's friends, collecting stories and evidence. Dream scenario, he could find enough to take legal action and get Howard thrown in jail; realistically, short of finding a video catching him in the act, Howard had enough money to wiggle his way out of any accusations.

He'd gone to Clint's house first, double-checking what he already knew to be true—there had been no dare. Clint had also told Steve he was fairly sure Howard was at fault, and Natasha, who had been staying over, was quick to join in. She and Clint were able to cite at least a half dozen times Tony had come to school last semester alone with injuries. The lacrosse team did often give him a rough time, and he always tried to pin it on them, but both Clint and Natasha were certain there were at least four incidents the lacrosse players couldn't have been responsible for. Steve had told them about his plan for confronting Howard—Clint called him a steel-balled son of a bitch, and Natasha whistled. They both offered to come along, but Steve insisted it would work best if he went alone. Man to man, so to speak, if a man who beat his son could still be considered one.

Rhodey had known Tony the longest, since before Tony had shown as an omega, and had been Steve's next target. They'd caught up Monday morning before school. Rhodey had briefly debated trusting him with such personal information; Steve was able to convince him of his sincerity.

Rhodey said that Howard had never exactly been a loving or affectionate father, but that before Tony had shown, he'd at least been interested in him. If anything, he'd been obsessed—he was always telling Tony he couldn't go play with his friends because he needed to stay home and study, keep his eyes on the prize: StarkIndustries.

Then Tony had shown, and Howard had dropped him completely. Before, Tony's time had been managed to the letter; Xavier's, private tutors, and Howard's own lessons took up his every spare minute. After, Tony ran wild. He went almost entirely unsupervised, and Rhodey remembered sleepovers that went on for days without a single phone call to his parents. They didn't care where Tony was or what he was doing, hadn't in years.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he started thinking Howard was abusing Tony. Tony, according to Rhodey, wasn't so much a good liar as he was a fantastic deflector, and that was worse. It was so easy to forget about the little things when Tony never acted submissive or quiet, like people would imagine an abuse case to be. He was charismatic and outgoing, the life of every party.

Pepper, when he caught up with her, said much the same, though she was very helpful in that she told Steve about the day Tony had gotten the Pherex. She said he'd had an injured shoulder and was running around in the jeans he'd worn the night before and no shirt when she picked him up at the park near his house. She was certain Tony had been desperate to get the Pherex because Howard had come home early—his parents apparently went on a lot of business trips—and Tony was scared of what Howard would do if he found out Tony had an alpha.

Thankfully the drug was no longer required, a fact Tony decided to surprise him with. They were watching their last movie of the night while cuddled up on the couch; Steve had his back pressed to Tony's chest, and Tony had his arms looped around Steve's waist loosely. Steve was paying fairly close attention to the movie, until he found himself distracted by something he couldn't quite put a finger on.

"What is that?" Steve murmured aloud eventually, curious.

It smelled good—fantastic, actually—but not the way food did, or like any kind of perfume he'd ever smelled. He couldn't think of words to describe it, because it didn't necessarily smell like anything in particular as much as it made him  _feel_ things. It made him feel balanced. Steady, strong. Owned—no, belonged to, a subtle but important difference—and altogether very…settled. Bound.

"Wondering when that'd kick in," Tony just mused, holding Steve a little closer with a hint of a smirk, "Do I smell good?"

"That's you?" Steve turned to look at him over his shoulder. "It doesn't…I mean, it's not a scent, it's like a…"

"Feeling?" Tony filled in the blank. "Yeah. Makes you feel good though, right?"

"Yeah." Steve frowned a bit in spite of his answer, still perplexed. Tony had pushed comfort to him through their bond before, but it'd never come across as a scent. "How are you doing that?"

"You're doing it to me right now." Tony shrugged. "Have been for weeks."

"You mean…?" Steve sat up sharply, breaking Tony's hold on him momentarily so he could turn around, look at him face to face. "That's your taken scent?"

"To you," Tony added, "To other people it smells the same as any other taken scent, like I'm sure yours does, even though to me it's…we smell different to each other, I guess."

"You stopped taking the Pherex, then?" Steve insisted, because he had to hear a verbal answer to that. If Tony was off the Pherex, it meant he truly planned on staying. It meant he was trusting Steve would make sure he never had to face Howard alone again; Steve would honor that trust or he would die trying.

"Yeah." Tony gave a small, almost shy nod. "I mean, it's not a big deal, it's just, y'know, unnecessary now, and I—"

Steve couldn't wait for Tony to finish the sentence. He kissed him impatiently, impulsively, the feelings Tony's scent had drawn from him rattling around his chest. He felt set free and held secure all at once, like he could do anything so long as he clung tight to this one fixed, set point. Like so long as he had Tony, he could take on the world.

He didn't have to ask before kissing Tony anymore; they'd talked about it, but Tony made it clear he was comfortable with Steve taking initiative. Liked it, even. Their bond was evolving to match the level of their relationship, and Steve was more than capable of telling when Tony would be receptive to a kiss and when he wouldn't be.

Tony tended to be very, very receptive.

It was a while before either of them spoke again. It wasn't until Steve moved his mouth lower, to Tony's neck, both to leave a bit of a love bite and to revel in Tony's scent a little more, that he realized what exactly what he was doing. Or, more accurately, how he was doing it. He sat back immediately, blinking at Tony widely.

"What?" Tony asked before he could speak, and Steve could feel him poking around in their bond for answers. "You're surprised at me? What'd I do?"

"You—I—" Steve tried twice to start the sentence and failed. Eventually he managed to stop sputtering and get out an, "I'm so sorry."

"You should be, you haven't left nearly a good enough mark yet. Why'd you stop?"

"No, not for—Tony, I—didn't you notice?"

"What, that you're hard? I'm pretty aware, actually—"

"No—" Steve paused, reconsidering. "Well, yes, but that's not what I'm talking about."

"What're you talking about?"

Steve wasn't sure how to phrase it. He didn't want Tony to freak out, but the way they'd fallen back on the couch, well. Steve had sort of sat back now, removing his arms from beside Tony's head, but he was still straddling Tony's lap in a way that two weeks ago—that  _two days ago—_ would've earned him an onslaught of defensive sarcasm, and the cold shoulder for who knows how long after.

He didn't know how Tony would react when he realized it, since he clearly hadn't yet. It was hard to tell sometimes. Tony had been so at ease with him recently, but hang-ups like that didn't just disappear overnight. Steve had been very careful in these past few days never to step over any of Tony's receding but still very present lines, and he had no intentions of stopping. Being in a relationship with Tony didn't give him blanket consent.

"Tony," Steve told him as gently as he could, "You're on your back."

"I'm—?" Tony started, confused, then abruptly shut his mouth. He swallowed hard, looking up at Steve with a weak smile. "Wow, hey, look at that."

His tone was flippant, but their bond was too open now for Steve not to feel the swell of panic. He slid away, easing back off Tony's lap and onto the couch.

"Like I said. I'm sorry," Steve repeated himself, now that Tony would understand what for, "Are you okay? Do you want me to leave?"

"I'm in  _your_ house." Tony gave a bit of a shaky laugh. "And I wouldn't want you to go, anyway. Just…gimme a minute."

"Of course." Steve sat perfectly still next to him, watching Tony's face for signs of how he felt, but stayed out of their bond to give Tony the minute to himself he'd asked for.

Eventually Tony gave a little huff of breath, determination crossing his features. "Okay."

"Okay wha—?" Tony swallowed the rest of Steve's sentence, fisting both hands in his shirt and dragging him back into Tony's lap. Steve flailed a moment, suddenly unsure where to put his hands, until Tony pulled back briefly to shoot him a thin but teasing smile.

"Work with me a little, would you? For an alpha, you're not doing so hot at this dominance thing."

Affronted, Steve reclaimed Tony's mouth, edging his hands under Tony's thighs to hold him tighter. He delivered the dominance Tony claimed he wanted, but was careful not to lose focus on the feelings underneath. It was hard to parse through Tony's determination to enjoy himself, but he seemed…alright. Nervous, like he was waiting for something to shift, some trigger to be stepped on, but okay for the moment.

Steve didn't like it. He didn't want Tony to be "okay", he wanted Tony to enjoy himself. He never wanted to make Tony anxious, or make him feel anything less than completely at ease. He'd been that way, these last few days. Happy.

Steve sat back again, tugging Tony along by the shirt until their roles had reversed. Tony tried to say something but Steve didn't let him, just kissed him through the shift until Tony was straddling him like usual. Steve could feel him relax, feel relief and gratitude and a deep, boundless trust coursing through their bond, and he smiled into the kiss. Tony just smacked his arm.

"Let me talk goddamn it," Tony muttered when Steve finally released his lips. "You don't have to do this. I'm not  _completely_ irrational, I can deal with it—"

"I'm sorry, what was that?" Steve laughed. "You'll 'deal with it'? You really know how to make a guy feel special."

"No, it's not you, it's m—"

"Are we breaking up now?" Steve raised an amused eyebrow.

"Sass, sass, sass," Tony grumbled, "And people think  _I'm_ the sarcastic one. I'm just saying you're always putting up with my issues and shit, so I'm trying to reciprocate here. Give and take, and all that therapeutic jazz."

"I don't want your 'therapeutic jazz', Tony. I want you to feel comfortable." Steve reached a hand up, cupped his cheek gently. "We're both comfortable like this. When we're both comfortable the other way, we'll try the other way. Nothing wrong with going slow, yeah?"

They both knew they were talking about more than kissing styles. Tony held his gaze long moment before dropping his head to kiss Steve softly.

"Love you," Tony murmured against his lips.

"I love you too, Tony." Steve tightened his grip, pulling Tony down for more.

He felt bad that he hadn't told Tony about his plan for dealing with Howard yet, but he was hoping one of Tony's friends could provide him with some form of evidence first. He needed something he could use against Howard, or he knew he wouldn't be taken seriously.

Emancipation wasn't really an option—Tony would be seventeen in just a few weeks. He only had a year left as a minor, and going through the legal system would probably take just as long, since Steve was sure Howard would contest it. It would turn into some great court battle, during which the authorities would keep an eye on where Tony was and make sure he continued to live at home, something Steve wasn't ever going to let happen again.

Tony had made the offhand comment that if they hadn't stolen from Howard, he probably could've fucked off to live at Steve's and Howard wouldn't have even noticed until after he was legal age. But they had, and Steve could feel very clearly how worried Tony was about the repercussions of that, no matter how he tried to hide it. The man had power, wealth, and vast resources; there was no way Tony could just hide out here for a year without Howard tracking him down.

Which was fine, since Steve had always been more of a frontal assault kind of guy, anyway.

His mom's accident had delayed and changed his plans a bit, but if anything, he was more willing than ever to forge ahead. Tony claimed his dad wouldn't know the money was gone until the bill came in another two weeks, but Steve didn't like sitting around waiting to be ambushed. He had a plan and he would go through with it either way, though he'd feel a little more confident about his chances if he had any form of insurance. It wasn't that he had doubts that Tony was being abused; it was that having some kind of proof would force Howard to recognize that Steve wasn't bluffing or fooling around.

He was delaying the confrontation until his mom woke up, though. He was delaying  _everything_ until she woke up; they spent every day in her room, from the moment visiting hours began until the moment they ended. A week ago, if someone had told him Tony would voluntarily stay in one room for fourteen hours day after day without so much as a hint of complaint, he'd have laughed in their face. He'd wondered once if he might be hallucinating, but the thought had been dismissed quickly. There was something about Tony too unique to replicate, even in his own mind.

He could put Tony's figure to paper, could catch certain expressions of his face or a look in his eyes, but though he knew Tony very well now, no product of his imagination could ever be quite the same as the real thing. No hallucination could be such a strangely wonderful combination of charming and ludicrous, and he was quite sure illusions couldn't kiss the way Tony did.

"Steve, come on, what was that?" Tony complained, swiping the three tiles Steve had put down. They were in the hospital room and playing gin rummy tiles, a game Tony was ferociously good at, though he hadn't quite grasped the concept that you weren't supposed to help other players. "I know you have a blue three, a yellow five, and two red elevens. Look, if you swap these and separate that pair, you can put this one here and that one with those and you get seven tiles down instead of three."

Tony separated a five-pair on the wobbly little table between them into three different sets, switching the tiles around to eventually use up all of Steve's remaining tiles.

"Great." Steve shook his head with a chuckle at Tony. "Guess I'm out."

"It's math, Steve, it's easy," Tony insisted, beginning to clear the tiles. "Here, let's play again, I'll show you."

"How about go fish instead?" Steve tried hopefully.

"What, and leave everything to luck?" Tony rolled his eyes. Once he'd learned his IQ points did nothing to propel him to victory in those kinds of games, he'd quickly lost patience with them.

"You have all the brains, I think it's only fair I at least get the luck," Steve pointed out.

"You can't have all the handsome  _and_ all the luck," Tony teased.

"Fair enough," Steve agreed amicably, "You keep the handsome, I'll take the luck."

"Ooh, sorry." Tony made a face, clearly trying not to smile. "Un-Fucking-Believable Growth Spurt Serum #42 is non-returnable. Luckily, you have a very understanding mate that will put up with your unfortunate condition."

"Condition?" Steve raised an amused eyebrow.

"Superhotness is a legitimate medical condition, Steve, don't be embarrassed."

"You're ridiculous." Steve rolled his eyes.

"You  _love_ it," Tony sing-songed gleefully, still sounding as delighted by that as he had the first time Steve had said it. Steve leaned across the little table between them to tug him in for a kiss.

Though the novelty of their relationship was nice, he hoped someday it could simply be a given. That it could be so obvious, so commonplace, that it wouldn't even occur to Tony as something he should be pleased about. Steve knew it sounded silly, but he didn't mean it the way it sounded; he didn't want to be taken for granted, just for Tony to feel secure in what they had.

They tried to keep it brief and chaste while in the hospital, though if Steve knew Isaac half as well as he thought he did, every doctor nurse and janitor on staff knew exactly what was going on between him and his "cousin". He was fairly certain they were only playing along so Tony could stay with him in the hospital room, something he was infinitely grateful for. He'd told Tony before, but no matter how many times he said it, it would never feel like enough: he couldn't imagine going through this without him.

His mother was the only family Steve had. His father and grandparents were dead. He'd never had any siblings. He had a freedom-loving aunt and uncle on his father's side that roamed the world and popped in once a decade to brag about their adventures, but no one he was close to, no one he could rely on. He didn't even have his aunt and uncle's phone numbers, couldn't have informed them of his mother's condition if he'd wanted to. If he didn't have Tony…Steve wasn't sure what he'd do. Fall apart, he supposed.

Maybe under different circumstances he'd have worried about being a burden, but Tony was far too willing and Steve was far too tired to feel anything but grateful.

He pushed that gratefulness to Tony, through their bond as well as through their kiss. It was interesting, kissing someone he was bonded to. Not to say he'd had much experience kissing someone he  _wasn't_ bonded to—the entirety of his kissing experience was limited to Tony, a blonde that had taken him by surprise in a game of truth or dare, and his pillow—but it was different kissing someone when the bond was open.

Before, they'd both been so preoccupied trying not to come on too strong or show any weakness that for all they'd been bonded, they hadn't been connected. Not the way they could be, the way they were meant to be. Steve didn't have to guess how Tony was feeling now, didn't even have to probe for it. Kissing Tony was like reading a book, information filtering effortlessly into his brain almost unconsciously; Tony's pleased contentment filled him like his own. He could sense the steady desire that flickered between them from both halves of the bond, too. It went unspoken for the moment, curbed by the knots of worry they both had for his mom's condition, but it was definitely there, growing every time they kissed.

"Okay, you either need to stop calling him your cousin or find a supply closet." Isaac popped his head in, which Tony only used as an excuse to use more tongue.

"Sorry." Steve pulled away first, flushed.

"Not sorry." Tony just snickered. Steve kicked his shin under the table. "By which I mean that I deeply apologize for comforting my distressed 'cousin'. Darn. Better not do that again."

"Tony." Steve rolled his eyes.

"I take it you two aren't actors." Isaac shook his head with a laugh.

"Football star." Tony jerked a thumb at Steve, then at himself. "Science geek."

"How romantic." Isaac chuckled. Steve and Tony exchanged a glance.

"Sure sounds that way, doesn't it?" Steve answered at last. Though he was beyond happy to have Tony in his life, he wouldn't exactly call the events that brought them together 'romantic'.

"Real life a bit stickier than you expected?" Isaac grinned.

"Much." Steve briefly flashed back to the feel of spunk, thick and definitely sticky on his stomach as Tony told him they were never happening again. The memory stung for the briefest of moments, until Tony's knee bumped his.

"Lunch?" Tony shot him an apologetic smile, reading his mind a little too well, and Steve nodded with a smile of his own. The past was past.

"Yeah."

Isaac always came to get them around lunchtime, making sure they got something to eat and socialized a bit instead of spending all day in the stiff hospital room. It was cafeteria food and it certainly wasn't good, but the staffers they ate with were nice; he'd met them before, visiting his mom at work over the years.

They followed Isaac out, though not before Steve shot one last look at his mom. She was too pale. She'd always had fair skin, they both did, but never like this. At least they'd unhooked the large machines he'd caught sight of before she'd gone into surgery. She was breathing on her own again, and her bruising had turned the mottled green and yellow that meant they were healing, but she hadn't woken up. Dr. Anderson was optimistic, said her body was just expending all its energy on healing and she'd wake up when the worst of it was through.

Steve was more anxious, which, somewhat ironically, his mother would've chastised him for. He could hear her now, telling him to put away his long face and have faith things would work out the way they were meant to.

He didn't want things to work out the way they were meant to.

He wanted his mom.

Tony's hand slipped into his, squeezing once. Steve lifted his head, squeezing back as he followed Tony and Isaac out of the room. Tony didn't release his hand this time, and Steve was fairly sure he caught Annie, one of the nurses, watching them. Tony apparently did too.

"What? We're close! It's a gesture of familial comfort, okay?"

"Don't bring attention to it, you just make it sound worse," Steve mumbled, embarrassed, trying to tug Tony along.

"I'm sick of getting shit for it," Tony grumbled, "If I wanna hold your stupid hand I'm gonna hold your stupid hand."

Steve said nothing, figuring the obnoxiously pleased look on his face probably spoke for itself.

"I was just thinking you're very sweet to your…" Annie shot a sly, you're-fooling-absolutely-no-one look between the two of them. "…'cousin', that's all."

"Hear that, Steve?" Tony said smugly, "She thinks I'm sweet."

"I never said you weren't." Steve laughed.

"Do you know what he called me yesterday?" Tony ignored him, insisting to Annie and Isaac, "A meatball.A  _meatball._ What does that even  _mean?"_

"It's just another word for goofy, Tony." Steve rolled his eyes with a smile.

"I'm not goofy!" Tony sputtered indignantly.

"You were dancing to AC/DC in your underwear."

"You were supposed to be in the shower!" Tony's neck went pink. "And you can't dance to 'Born To Be Wild' with your clothes on, Steve, it's unnatural!"

"Totally agreed." Isaac nodded sagely.

"I didn't say it was a bad thing _,_ " Steve insisted, because really, it wasn't. Seeing Tony just goofing off and dancing around to his favorite music had been incredibly endearing, and Steve certainly wasn't complaining that he'd been wearing nothing more than boxers, either.

"You insulted me!"

Steve raised an eyebrow. He was fairly sure the part where they made out on the couch for nearly an hour afterwards had clarified that "meatball" wasn't an insult. He pushed the memory at Tony through the bond. Tony's neck went a bit redder.

"I think your ego will survive," Steve told him dryly.

"Have I mentioned I love you?" Tony tried with a weak grin, then, with a glance at Isaac and Annie, "As a cousin, of course, familial love, very strong familial love—"

"Please just stop talking." Steve winced. The incest implications seemed to get worse every time Tony opened his mouth.

"You'd do us all a favor." Annie laughed.

"Hey!" Tony scowled. "What'd I ever do to you, lady?"

"I'm hungry, who else is hungry?" Steve declared, placing a hand on Tony's back and leading him away from the nurse and down the hall towards the staff room. "She meant no one likes hearing about incest, Tony, relax."

"Well,  _I_  think it's kinda kinky."

"I think you're kinda strange."

"I think you love it."

"I  _know."_  Steve pressed a kiss to Tony's cheek; Isaac had made it no secret that he would keep theirs. "That you're right."


	16. Chapter 16

It was four more days before Steve's mom woke up.

Tony was halfway to passed out on the little couch by her bed. Steve kept strange hours recently—not that anyone could blame him—and Tony did his best to keep up with that. They'd watched movies until four in the morning last night, slept barely an hour and a half, then rushed off to the hospital in time for visiting hours to start. Tony hadn't said a word of complaint, hadn't even  _thought_ it, but that didn't mean he wasn't exhausted.

Steve seemed to be alright with it though, letting Tony stretch out on the couch, throw his legs off the end and drop his head in Steve's lap. Steve was petting his hair softly, and the peaceful sensation of Steve's slender fingers carding through his hair was the only thing Tony was staying awake for anymore. He'd never had someone pet his hair before, but it felt so good, so gentle and kind, and Tony didn't want to sleep through it.

It was only just after six in the morning now. The sun was barely beginning to peek over the horizon, and there were a few slivers of light filtering through the window to Steve's right, catching in his hair. They made it look golden, a bit like a halo, and Tony could only marvel at Steve's radiance. He would've made a wonderful angel, but Tony was selfishly grateful for his humanity.

"Thank you for driving me," Steve murmured, bending down to press a kiss to Tony's nose, "Go back to sleep, honey."

Tony just smiled back, too tired to wrinkle his nose in his usual protest to the nose-kissing Steve was so fond of, or the sudden instigation of pet names. It was a non-sequitur, but there was nothing else in the world Tony could've imagined answering with except,

"I love you."

"You can love me in your sleep." Steve's lips twitched in an amused smile.

"I do," Tony told him earnestly, something about the early morning light and Steve's smile making him painfully honest, "I always do. Have. Always have. I've loved you since the first time you smiled at me, in biology. I was a few rows behind you, but you…I think I noticed your hair, first. It looked soft. You were small, then, and everything about you looked soft. Kind. I didn't really think about you again until class was over and I bumped into you on my way out the door, and you just… _smiled_ at me. Said you were sorry, too, I guess, but I wasn't listening because you were just so fucking radiant and I was so caught off guard. I don't think you've left my thoughts since."

"Tony, I—" Steve swallowed hard, let out a long exhale. He looked stunned, more awake now than either of them had been all morning. Tony should've probably been more concerned about how startlingly easy it was to be so open with Steve, but if he couldn't trust Steve, who could he? "Tony, that's—me, too. That was, I…you smiled at me, when I said sorry, and I just. Fell. And I knew it was so ridiculous, because you'd never even looked in my direction before and I didn't think you ever really did after, either, but—"

"I did, I was  _always—"_

"I didn't know that, but I—I loved you. We didn't even  _speak_ and I told my friends and my mom and everyone else that it was just a crush and I'd get over it but I  _knew_ it wasn't, I always knew it wasn't, because it was such a silly, stupid thing to hold onto for so long but I had that one smile and that…it was enough."

Tony reached up to clasp a hand behind Steve's head and pull him down. The kiss was gentle but far from chaste, and Tony let his fingers tangle in the hair at the base of Steve's neck for a more solid grip. He surged up against Steve's mouth, trying to taste the emotions there, trying to find words to define how he felt, because he wasn't sure love was enough to cover it anymore. There was too much of it, too much between them to be contained in one itty bitty little word.

He couldn't find anything better so he settled for frequency, mouthing  _love you_ against Steve's lips, over and over. He could feel Steve return the words, as much he could feel the way it flowed effortlessly through their bond. Steve had a soft, loose smile when they parted, some indefinite time later Tony's brain didn't have the oxygen to determine.

"Who couldn't love a smile like that?" Tony reached up a hand, tracing the edges of Steve's lips, and they softened further under his touch. "I'm going to have to fight people off right and left to keep you."

"I'm not so sure about that." Steve gave a little laugh, the sound making his lips jump a bit under Tony's fingertips. "The way Bucky puts it, my taken scent is strong enough to ward off bears, whatever that means."

"It means you smell delicious." Tony tugged him down for another, brief kiss. "And very, very mine."

"Damn right I am. You know…" Steve brushed Tony's hair back, biting his lip thoughtfully. "In the office, the last time we were at school, you called me your alpha. I know it was under pressure, but I…is that something that would bother you?"

"Would what bother me, exactly?"

"Me calling you that. My omega." Steve ducked his head a bit, but considering Tony was in his lap, it didn't do much to hide the ferocious blush on his cheeks. "Mine. In general."

"Am I sensing a kink, Rogers?"

"It's not a  _kink."_ Steve flushed even worse. "I just…I'd like it. A lot."

"So it's a kink."

"It's not a kink!"

"I'm not kink-shaming you, if that's your thing, that's your thing—"

"Tony, come on, I mean it, I want to know if that's okay or—"

"Idiot." Tony reached up, cupping Steve's face and pulling him back down for a quite thorough kiss that, from the looks of it, left Steve fairly dazed. Good. "Yeah, Steve. I'm yours."

They kissed a little longer, lazy and unhurried in the quiet, early dawn privacy. Steve pulled away first, and began carding his fingers through Tony's hair again thoughtfully. He didn't have to say a word; Tony knew exactly what he wanted to talk about, and he gave a loud, rumbling groan.

"What?" Steve frowned.

"You have your Howard face on."

"My what?"

"Your Howard face." Tony gestured at Steve's face. "It's sad and broody and pissy all at once. Have I mentioned how unflattering it is when you make that face right after I kiss you?"

"No I just—you're mine." Steve's expression went soft, and he brushed Tony's hair back absently. "And I'm yours. That means I need to be honest with you."

"Have you not been?"

"I haven't lied to you. But I haven't told you my plan for dealing with him, either."

"You and your plans," Tony muttered.

"Yes, me and my plans," Steve said firmly, "I've been talking to your friends, gathering information—"

"You've been  _spying_ on—?" Tony half-started to sit up, but Steve ran his hands up Tony's arms, over his shoulders and chest, trying to soothe him but not wanting to just push him back down.

"No, no, I wasn't," Steve promised, "It wasn't about looking into you, I had no intentions to invade your privacy. I was just trying to find evidence."

"Don't tell me you actually think you could take Howard to court." Tony furrowed his brow. The thought was sweet, but naïve. Howard didn't have a good lawyer, he had a team of fantastic ones, paid more per hour than Steve's mom probably made in a year to clean up things like petty child abuse claims.

"No. I don't. But I could scare him, make him  _think_ I would."

"And you think that would work." Tony glanced up at Steve; he looked so earnest, so determined.

"Not entirely." Steve added quickly, "I know Howard's powerful, but he's also smart. He's a businessman, it's all about the bottom line. Bottom line, if I swear to pay him back with interest, he'll make more money. Right? And he won't have to pay for any of your expenses anymore either, so that's even more money in his pocket, and—"

Steve went on, detailing his plan to have a mature and responsible discussion with Howard. How he would agree to sign some binding loan to pay back the stolen money. How if Howard didn't agree, or if he didn't like Tony going to live elsewhere, Steve would explain the legal action he could take against him with the testimonies he'd gathered from Tony's friends. He went on, and everything about Steve and his speech just radiated hope and good intentions and so much heart _._ Tony couldn't bring himself to say anything.

He knew it wouldn't work. Any of it. Steve came from a different world; yes, Howard cared about the bottom line, but bottom line wasn't just income minus expenses equals profit. Men like Howard, men like Tony, didn't look at the bottom line. They looked at what  _created_  the bottom line. They saw the big picture, saw not just the money but where it came from, what kept it coming.

Tony was a part of the bigger picture, a part of the image that kept Howard in power with his supporters, his business partners, his stockholders. Howard's image was not just of Howard, the brilliant weapons engineer and competitive businessman—Howard was the man with the perfect family, the man with the doting omega wife who adored him and the charismatic alpha son who revered him. The image was laughable, but it was valuable, at least to Howard. It wasn't legal threats that would make him waver; Stark Legal would shut anything like that down in the space of a second, if it even got that far. Most likely, Howard would just take one look at Steve's earnest, do-gooder face and slam the door.

Tony needed to get his hands on something that would debase Howard's image, something no court case or legal argument in the world would make vanish; if he had something like that, that would be the key to making Howard back off. The money was a drop of water in an ocean; what Howard would care about was the  _idea_ of it, that Tony would dare to steal from him, dare to leave him, and all for an alpha Tony was never supposed to have. He'd abandon his anger to save his image, Tony was certain of it.

He knew the easiest way to get what he wanted; he also knew Steve would never agree to it.

"Is this something that really needs to be discussed at six in the morning?" Tony complained, wriggling over onto his side to press his face into Steve's delicious abdominals and grumble, "Why can't we just make out?"

"I thought you wanted to go back to sleep." Tony couldn't see Steve's face, but his voice sounded funny. A little uncomfortable, almost.

"I can do both. Never underestimate the power of multitasking."

"Tony." There was definitely a hitch to Steve's voice now, but it wasn't discomfort, it was something closer to a laugh, and…ohhh, this was going to be fun.

"Steve, darling." Tony spoke directly into Steve's abs, and Steve twitched a bit, like Tony expected. "Is there something you want to tell me—"

"I was trying to—"

"—about how ticklish you are?" Tony finished gleefully, removing his face from Steve's stomach and bringing in his hand instead. Steve quickly slapped Tony's hand away.

"Tony, this is important, I—"

" _Very_ important! How could I not know all my alpha's ticklish spots? I've failed you as a mate, Steve." Tony sat up and snuck his hands back, this time under Steve's shirt for better tickling access. The sound Steve made was dangerously close to a giggle, and Tony decided immediately that his new goal in life was to get an actual, full-on, undeniable  _giggle_ from Steve Rogers.

"Get your hands out of there!"

"That's not what you said last night." Tony grinned wickedly, adopting a falsetto of Steve's voice as he scooted closer on the couch. "More, Tony, please, Tony, touch me, Tony—"

"I do  _not_ sound like tha-hat!" Steve's voice broke into a laugh on the last word, made all the more humorous by the indignantly embarrassed look on his face.

"Maybe it was just my imagination then. I definitely imagined the part where you ripped my favorite shirt."

" _You_ ripped it!"

"Trying to get it off  _your_ delicious body." Tony wiggled his hands up Steve's sides, earning a sound even higher than last time, though not quite a giggle.

"I told you it was too small for m— _Tony!"_ Steve yelped, grabbing Tony's hands and trying to maneuver away on the too-small couch. "Stop, or I swear—"

"What?" Tony teased. He held his hands up, fingers wiggling in the air tauntingly. "What're you gonna do?"

"Tickle me again and find out," Steve warned.

Tony didn't hesitate before tickling Steve again in spite of his warning, which in retrospect he probably figured said something mushy about love and trust and whatever, but at the time Tony's train of thought was more along the lines of  _I have to_ got  _to hear what a Steve giggle sounds like._ Steve didn't hesitate to tickle him back with enthusiasm, drawing Tony into a lengthy tickle fight that ended with highly emasculating giggles from the both of them. Tony was sure Clint would've laughed his ass off if he'd seen, and Tony was entirely sure he didn't give a fuck.

"You win!" Tony gasped eventually. "Fucking Christ, you win, okay? Fuck!"

"What was that? I didn't quite hear you." Steve looked up at him through purposefully seductive lashes, his nimble fingers still digging under Tony's knee, into the particularly weak spot he'd found there.

"I said fuck you, that's wha-hat I said," Tony muttered, though his hitched laugh sort of contradicted his words.

"Is this the part where I say please?" Steve flirted playfully, and Tony shot forward on the couch, nearly knocking Steve off the back end to kiss him filthily. They didn't come for air for quite a while.

"You know, it's not often one feels like a third wheel in their own hospital room."

The speed at which they vaulted apart and off the couch was superhuman.

" _Oh my god!"_

" _Mom!"_

"Thank freaking god, I can't believe—"

"You're alright, how are you—"

"Feeling, do you feel—"

"Okay, we can get a—"

"Nurse to come and—"

"Look at you, Tony, go and—"

"Hunt one down, on it—"

"Boys." Steve's mother shushed them, her exasperation purely fond. "I'm alright. Leave the nurses be, Tony."

"But someone should make sure you're okay—" Steve's grip on the railing of the bed was white-knuckled.

"You listen to me." She took Steve's hand. "I'm doing just fine, and they'll be here in a moment anyhow. More importantly, shouldn't you two be in school?"

" _Not_ more importantly," Steve insisted, clasping her hand probably a touch too tightly. His mom didn't mention it. "How do you feel?"

"Like I've been hit by a car, I suppose." She gave a light, airy laugh, and it only made Steve look more rattled. Tony could empathize; he felt like little more than a rogue wind and he'd be knocked right down.

"That's not funny." Steve gripped her hand tighter. "Mom, I've been terrified for you, please don't say things like that."

"Lighten up, dear. I'm awake, I'm alive. It's alright, really. Such long faces, the both of you—"

They were interrupted by Dr. Anderson and a pair of nurses bustling in. The nurses shooed them out, but they had pleased, genuine smiles on their faces. They assured Steve and Tony both that Mrs. Rogers would be fine; they just had some tests they needed to run. So they sat in the hallway, Steve tapping every muscle known to man; fingers, knees, feet, all of it. He was practically vibrating with restless, frenzied energy, and Tony bumped shoulders with him.

"Told you."

"What?" Steve glanced up, too distracted by what was sure to be an endless whirl of thoughts to have heard what Tony said.

"Told you she'd just want to know why we weren't in school." Tony smiled ruefully.

Steve's face stayed perfectly blank for a moment before he burst into a manic, hysterical crescendo of laughter completely out of proportion to Tony's mildly funny joke. He laughed so hard his whole body shook, so loud he probably woke the whole floor. It was a wonderful sound, until his laugh started to sound an awful lot like a sob.

"C'mere, baby," Tony said—Steve had called him 'honey' first, and frankly he'd been holding back an embarrassing amount of pet names all week anyway—immediately putting both arms around Steve and awkwardly tugging him against his chest.

Steve buried his face in Tony's shirt, not crying, just taking a deep, long few breaths as the overwhelming worry and fear and exhaustion of the past week slowly began to ebb away. Once he'd caught his breath he reorganized himself, not pulling away but shifting, scooting a little closer to lean his head on Tony's shoulder instead. Tony took his hand and squeezed.

It was nearly an hour before they were allowed back in the room. Steve shot past the doctor the minute he opened the door; it was Tony who hung back and asked what was going on, if there was any more treatment needed, how long before she could be released. The doctor was probably fully aware of Tony's non-family status, but he just smiled and told Tony that she would be released within a day or two barring any further complications. She'd need another few weeks of rest and recuperation, but was expected to heal completely given time.

Tony joined them inside to find Steve's mom already giving Steve shit for missing school.

"Mom, I was excused, I'm not skipping—"

"They said I've been out for a  _week and half,_ Steven! How could you miss a week and a half of school just to sit at my bedside and mope?"

"I wasn't  _moping,_ I was—"

"You were definitely moping," Tony corrected, turning to Steve's mom, "But to be fair, he had good reason to worry—"

"And you." She pinned him with a disapproving look. "I'd bet anything you're not even excused."

"Not  _officially—"_

"What am I going to do with you two? Honestly." She huffed a sigh. "The both of you are such worrywarts. At least you've made up, from the looks of things."

"Oh." Steve flushed bright red, probably finally realizing what his mom had woken up to. "Yeah. I mean—yes, we have."

"I think I deserve a bit more than 'we have', Steven, I've only been waiting for this story since you came home that first day of freshman year going on and on about someone's 'coffee-brown eyes'."

"I did  _not_ —"

"He went through a very… _descriptive_  phase. He liked your eyes best. They were everything from soulful to mesmerizing." She laughed to Tony, patting Steve's arm. When Tony laughed, she smiled at him. "And oh, don't get him started on your laugh, the boy could go for hours. I don't think I've ever heard anyone go on like he did."

"If either of you need me, I'll be jumping off the roof—" Steve started to turn, but both his mom and Tony caught him by the arm. Steve glanced at each of them in turn. "This is going to be my life now, isn't it? You two teaming up on me?"

"Yes. And you're not going anywhere until you sit still and tell me the story, young man." Steve's mom patted his hand. Tony pulled up chairs for them both closer to her bedside, and Steve sat in one of the offered seats with a sigh.

"It started the day of the accident…"

* * *

When Steve woke up, his first thought was for Tony.

There was no warmth against his back, no arm around his waist, no fingers tangled in his. He missed it all, felt the absence of Tony like a phantom limb. It was especially odd considering how rare it was for Tony to wake up before him. Tony had only been crashing with him for two weeks, but in that time he'd never gotten up without being rolled out of the bed or brought coffee, so Steve figured he was sort of justified in saying that waking up without Tony was a strange occurrence.

He wondered if Tony had gotten up early to help his mom. She'd only been home a day, and by all accounts should still be resting, but being who she was she of course insisted that she was fine and went about as if nothing was wrong, which made both Steve and Tony incredibly nervous. If she so much as breathed differently, they both jumped to offer assistance with everything from fetching things, to cooking something, to just tidying up. Tony in particular was exceptionally helpful around the house, probably because he still—wrongly—felt like he had to earn his keep or something. Steve was fairly sure Tony had never used a vacuum before yesterday, but he'd given it a valiant try, lasting all of two minutes before running to Steve and declaring that the vacuum had tried to eat him.

Steve rolled over, wondering briefly how Tony had managed to get out of bed without waking him—not to mention why he'd bothered, when Steve would've been just as happy to get up and make himself useful—before he caught sight of a scrap of paper on his bedside table. Steve had an eerie feeling he wasn't going to like what it said. He picked it up, glanced at his name in Tony's cramped scrawl, then flipped it over.

_You're not going to like this._

Would you look at that.

_You're going to have every right to be mad, and I'm going to deserve it. But I did the math, I tried every variable, I thought of every possible conclusion; this is the only way to convince him to leave us alone. And I don't know if you've noticed, but I'm kind of a lot in love with you, so there's not a whole lot I wouldn't do to secure any sort of future that has you in it._

_I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing, even if you don't like it. Please._

_Love you,_

_Tony_

Steve immediately probed Tony's half of the bond for his location, and had to resist the urge to hit something,  _hard._ What could Tony be thinking? Going back home, and on a Sunday? Howard would be there, might even see hi—

" _Fuck."_ Steve wasn't one to swear unnecessarily, his mother had done a very good job training him in that regard, but there weren't any other words in the world for the unique combination of rage and terror that gripped him then.

Tony's plan was not an option, would never,  _ever_ be an option—

Steve shot out of bed, grabbing his jeans and an old t-shirt off the floor, throwing them on faster than he'd known he could. He grabbed his cell off the nightstand, checked the time; 8:39. He stumbled down the hallway and into the kitchen. In a car accident little more than two weeks ago and instead of sleeping in, his mother was making breakfast. Jesus. Was he the only sane person in this entire damn house?

"Mom, can I—"

"I can make breakfast on my own, Steven, honestly. It's too early for you to be fussing."

"No, I need—can I use the car? It's an emergency, Tony's out—" — _giving me a fucking heart attack_ — "—doing something really dangerous, I need to stop him."

"Of course." She frowned in a way that indicated she'd be asking many questions later, but she'd always been perceptive and could thankfully tell that now wasn't the time. "Go on."

"Thank you." Steve crossed the room in two broad steps, kissing her cheek. "And it's not fussing, it's doctor's orders, but we can argue about that later."

"Such a worrier." She rolled her eyes. He took off down the hall without responding, grabbing the keys off the shelf as he went.

Steve had never had a longer car ride in his life. It was a miracle he wasn't pulled over for going grossly over the speed limit, but Steve would thank his blessings when he got Tony out of that damn house. He called Tony on the way over, but the call was declined. Steve got a text thirty seconds later.

_Can't talk on the phone now, he'll hear_

Steve didn't like the sound of that at  _all._ He couldn't text and drive, so instead of answering he pressed the gas a little harder. He eventually pulled up to the manor with a screech of tires, and hopped out without even finding a proper parking space. He was a split second from typing in the gate code, when Tony's words from the note came back to him.

_I need you to trust that I know what I'm doing, even if you don't like it. Please._

Fuck. Steve spun in a circle. Huffed an aggravated sigh. Clenched and unclenched his fists. If Tony was in immediate danger, he'd know. He reached through the bond again, but all he felt on Tony's end was forced calmness. There were some jitters underneath, but he wasn't afraid, wasn't hurting. He was determined. That worried Steve more than anything else, but he forced himself to remember that Tony had blatantly asked for his trust, and Steve loathe to betray that unless he had to. His hatred of Howard was just wearing down his definition of "had to".

Tony, sensing his probing, pushed back something that if Steve had to put to words felt an awful lot like a  _trust me._ He gave a loud, irritated groan, but stayed where he was. The  _second_ that man  _breathed_ on Tony he was going in, but until then, he'd settle for trying to convince Tony how horrifically dangerous his mysterious plan was.

_GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!_

_Caps are unnecessary. Plan is proceeding fine. Trust me, Steve_

_I trust you, I don't trust him. Come outside, we can talk about it and make a better plan together._

_I had a camera in the workshop so I could record certain experiments. I managed to get down there and back to my room without him seeing. I've got it set up to record, I'm just double checking the wireless feed now_

_That doesn't sound like you getting out of the house._

_That's because I'm not. Once I finish setting it up, it'll record anything that happens in my room and save it to my laptop, which is safe at your house. All I have to do is goad Howard into a punch or two, point out the camera, remind him of a wonderful little thing called youtube, and we're home free_

Steve wasn't sure there were words for how utterly insane his mate clearly was, how incredibly dangerous this plan was, or how strongly he needed Tony to  _get out of that damn house._ He settled for the simple.

_NO._

_I promise you, if we have video of that, Howard won't dare to breathe the same air as us._

_I don't care! I don't want him to lay a finger on you!_

_It'll be maybe five minutes, tops. I can take a hit, I'll be fine, and then we'll be free. Isn't that worth it?_

_Worth him touching you? NO!_

_Steve, the bill was roughly half a million dollars. With your plan, if it even succeeded—which it wouldn't—we'd spend the rest of our lives giving up our savings to a dick who owns three mansions. My plan, a couple punches and he's out of our life for good. I'll probably get worse at school from Tiberius McDouchebag before the end of the year. It's worth it, Steve. Please just trust me_

_How are you even planning to get him to…do this?_

_I'll tell him I stole half a million dollars and I'm leaving to live with my alpha_

_Guess that would do it. But the second he touches you? I'm going in. That's not negotiable, Tony. You said you need a minute or two of video, well, you've got as long as it takes for me to get through this gate and to your room._

_Thank you_

_You're not welcome. I'm not happy about this, Tony. Anytime you change your mind and want to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE is fine by me._

_Way to be about as subtle as a trainwreck_

_I'm not trying to be subtle, I'm trying to get my IDIOTIC mate out of an incredibly stupid and terrifyingly dangerous situation_

Tony didn't text back.

The longer Steve waited, the more of a fury he worked up. The idea that someone,  _anyone_  would treat Tony the way Howard did made Steve angry, but the idea that it was someone who was supposed to care about him, someone who was supposed to watch out for and protect him, made Steve burn with rage.

And God, how had he not seen this coming? He should have never thought Tony would give in to the responsible plan so easily. Tony never backed down from anyone, not even when by all accounts he should. Hell,  _especially_ when by all accounts he should. Ten lacrosse players against him, and he'd tackle their best player; that was Tony. Steve loved that about him, loved his fierce determination and courage, but goading Howard into attacking him, into  _hurting_ him—Steve's fist connected with the brick wall before he even realized he'd formed one.

It stung, but he wasn't in the right headspace to care. It was another five minutes before he felt anything, before he felt the flicker of fear that probably meant Howard had walked into the room. It was only another moment before he felt a sharp, stinging pain across his cheek, a slap, possibly a punch with some kind of ring, and he was blazing past the gate before he realized he'd even entered the code.

He still wasn't sure where in the hell Tony's room was, but it was beyond easy at this point to just let his instincts lead him there. He had to stop briefly three times, their bond connecting every punch Howard threw right to Steve; two sharp blows to the face and one to the stomach, each one only making him more urgent, more furious. A flight of stairs, a hallway, and two turns later he was slamming open the door to Tony's room.

The cornucopia of emotions that spun across Howard's face at Steve's entrance was mildly gratifying, and might've even been humorous under any other situation. He could clearly smell the match of Tony's taken scent on Steve, and there was a wrinkling of confusion, likely as he worked out Steve was not the beta he'd thought. Howard was a good actor though, the businessman in him, and within seconds he had his face back under perfect control.

"This is a family matter." Howard's eyes cut to Steve sharply, calculating how much he knew, what he'd seen. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere." That Steve managed to hold back a snarl was nothing short of a miracle.

"You broke into my home. I could get you arrested so fast it would make your head spin, boy." Howard took a stride forward. "So I'd watch your tone with me."

"And I could get you arrested for child abuse so fast it would make  _your_ head spin, so I wouldn't threaten me." There was the snarl. Frankly, he was surprised his control around the man had lasted even that long.

"I'd advise you of the same." Howard didn't so much as flinch. "My lawyers would rip you to shreds. Go home."

"I wouldn't be so sur—" Tony started, but Howard snapped, rounding on him.

"Was I fucking speaking to you?"

"Don't you talk to him like that." Steve's voice wasn't a shout but a threat, dark and commanding enough to earn even Howard's attention. He crossed to where Tony was, putting himself between him and Howard. "Your son is a better man than you'll ever be. I don't know what gives him the strength to put up with assholes like you, but he's got it in spades and I will _never_  let you or  _anyone_  like you take that away from him."

He didn't know where the words came from, just that this man was hurting his mate, his Tony, in ways that couldn't be fixed. He was leaving scars in places Steve couldn't reach, and he wanted more than anything to remove Howard and his poisonous words from Tony's life any way he could. He wasn't an animal and attacking the man wasn't an option yet, but the desire to do it anyway didn't lessen.

"You let your alpha fight all your battles, boy?" Howard just sneered to Tony, his dominance not threatened in the slightest by Steve's speech.

"I let my alpha have my back, yeah." Tony raised his chin in defiance, Steve's presence solidifying his confidence as he spat out a mock, " _Sir."_

"We're leaving," Steve told Howard decisively, "And we're not coming back. Either of us."

"Are you now?" Howard looked more amused than anything, and every inch of Steve ached to wipe that smirk from his face.

"Tell him what you told me." Steve said to Tony as calmly as he could manage, resisting the urge to bare his teeth at Howard.

"Wave to the camera,  _Dad_." Tony pointed out a little black box on top of one of his shelves. Steve was more than willing to admit he took pleasure in the way the blood drained from Howard's face.

"The footage is on his laptop already." Steve told Howard, taking Tony's hand. "You do nothing to him, we do nothing with it."

"You're blackmailing me." Howard narrowed his eyes.

"We don't want anything." Steve shook his head.

"Just leave me the fuck alone." Tony's words were quiet, a harsh contrast to his snark from only a moment ago.

"Like I said." Steve squeezed his hand. "We're leaving."

"Anthony—" Howard advanced immediately, hand outstretched to grab Tony's arm.

That wasn't happening.

Steve didn't remember cocking back his fist, but he would always remember the extremely satisfying crunch of his knuckles colliding with Howard Stark's nose.

"Jesus fucking Christ—" Tony swore, but Steve didn't pause.

"You don't touch him again." Steve's voice was a low growl, and the alpha pheromones he was releasing were thicker than any he'd given off before. _"Ever._ "

Steve didn't wait for any form of answer; he'd gotten what he came for.


	17. Chapter 17

"Do you need to go to the hospital?" Steve demanded.

God, Tony. Steve simultaneously wanted to throttle him and curl up in a protective ball around him forever. Unfortunately, neither was an option, appealing as the latter may have been. Steve shot Tony another glance over his shoulder. He had a gash on his right cheek, the red mark contrasted by the bright purple bruises already blossoming high on his other cheekbone. He hunched just the littlest bit as he walked, likely trying not to let Steve see how much the last of it had taken out of him, but Steve had felt it, if only briefly; he wouldn't be surprised if Tony had a bruised rib or two.

"No." Tony's head shot up in alarm. "It's just some bruises, I'm fine. Unless you want to carry me out of here on your white steed, Charming."

"Do you want me to carry you?" Steve shot Tony another look over his shoulder, being perfectly serious. He knew Tony was teasing, could hear the joking tone, but he was more than willing to carry Tony out if his ribs were hurting him.

"What?"

"I said do you want—"

"I heard you, I just—shit, you actually would, wouldn't you?"

"You're hurt."

"I'll be f—"

"Stop saying you're  _fine,_ nothing about this situation is  _fine!"_

"Steve, really, it wasn't that ba—"

"Do you know what I  _hate_ about that phrase?" Steve interrupted, gritting his teeth. "When you say it wasn't 'that' bad, it means there are times it was worse. Times that I wasn't there, times no one was there and you had to deal with him all alone and, here's a real surprise, that  _pisses me off_. So if you want me to turn around and hit him some more, by all means, keep telling me how it's 'not that bad'."

There was a long moment of silence as they maneuvered back down the hallway Steve had come from, until Tony spoke up, his voice quiet, close to a whisper.

"I knew you'd come."

"Of course I'd come, that doesn't make it a good plan!"

"No, I—Steve, I couldn't have done that without you. Howard, he…there aren't a whole fucking lot of things I'm afraid of but he's, he's one of them, and I couldn't have…if I didn't  _know_ you would come for me, I couldn't have done that, not in million years, not for anything. But I knew."

"Knowing I'll save you doesn't mean you should put yourself in danger!"

"This was the only plan that would—"

"I hate this plan."

"I know, but it—"

"No, you  _don't_ know." Steve snapped, not so much as pausing in his storm out of the Stark manor as he pushed the deluge of worry and terror and rage he was under over into Tony's half of the bond. "I  _hate._ This. Plan."

Tony faltered a step as the weight of Steve's whirlwind emotions hit him, but picked back up quickly. Good, because if Tony stopped walking, Steve would not hesitate to throw him over his shoulder and keep moving—well, he'd probably do a bridal carry, putting Tony over his shoulder could hurt his ribs. The fact that they were still inside this damn house made his skin crawl.

"Steve, really, I was safe—"

"You were  _not_ safe!" Steve shouted, "You were the absolute farthest thing from safe!"

"You had my back," Tony told him stubbornly, "I was safe."

"We're not talking about how wrong your definition of safe is right now." Steve shook his head, still clenching and unclenching his free hand.

"Man, I can't believe you actually punched him in the—"

"Not talking about this," Steve insisted again, his voice straining.

"—face, that was the coolest thing ever—"

"Me having to stop your father from  _abusing you_ is not 'cool', Tony, it's terrifying." Steve grit his teeth.

"Well, you didn't seem terrified of him, god, Steve, you were like a freaking superhero—"

"I am not even close to terrified of Howard Stark," Steve spat the name, "I'd do a lot more than punch him if getting you out of this awful house wasn't priority one right now."

"Hey, don't mind me, I know the way out and I'm all for more punching—"

"I was terrified for you."Steve walked a little faster, wondering if scooping Tony up and sprinting out was called for or not. It sure felt like it. "And you're certainly not making me feel any better."

"I'm sorry for not telling you, I am, it was just the best way—"

"You getting beaten will  _never_ qualify as the best  _anything—"_

"Easiest way, then," Tony corrected, "I know you're mad, and like I said, you have every right to be, but think about it for a second. We're home free, Steve. No debt, no Howard, just you and me and our whole fucking  _future,_ you think a punch or two isn't worth that?"

"Four." Steve grit his teeth. "He hit you four times."

"I notice you're not correcting me about it being worth it though, and I—"

"Don't push it."

"Right."

They made it outside,  _finally,_ and Steve started pulling Tony towards his car before Tony shook his head.

"Let me take mine. It really is mine, it's in my name and paid off and everything, but if we leave it now I'll never get it back."

Steve clenched and unclenched his fists; obviously Tony could drive a car on his own, but every instinct he had was  _screaming_ at him not to let Tony out of his sight.

"I'm tailing you."

"Alright," Tony consented easily. He leaned forward to kiss Steve's cheek. "Thank you. For being there."

"You're welcome," Steve grunted, not liking that it was something he even had to do, much less be thanked for. Tony turned away, and Steve stopped him. "Hey."

Tony turned back to face him again. Steve was briefly struck by how far they'd come; Tony's face was open, curious of Steve's question, but clear of any wariness or distrust. Steve had caught his arm—lightly, his grip easily breakable of course—but just two weeks ago that same action would've sent Tony scrambling for his defenses, would've made him push him away. He certainly couldn't have done what he was about to do two weeks ago, either.

He pulled Tony to him, one hand going behind Tony's head to hold him steady as he kissed him, hard. It was tinged with the still-burning embers of anger and desperation but Tony complied easily, opening to Steve without hesitation or reserve.

"I love you." Steve dropped the hand he had on the back of Tony's neck to his cheek, stroking a thumb feather-soft over the gash there. "Even if you're a fucking idiot."

"Did you just…shit, you really are pissed." Tony winced.

"Yes." Steve left it at that, pressing a soft kiss to the mark on his cheek before they parted ways.

Steve, true to his word, tailed Tony the entire way home. The quiet ride did a little to calm him down, though he still didn't like it. But then, he would  _never_ like it; seeing Howard, or anyone at all, touch Tony like that made Steve's blood boil. Just seeing the bruises left behind made him angry, had him ready to go punch a brick wall again. His knuckles still ached from that and from using the same hand to hit Howard, but it was a good ache, a righteous one. Steve would've gladly used the same hand to hit him another ten times. In spite of his still very present, still very valid anger, he could admit there was some sense to Tony's plan. It was reckless and stupid, but it did make sense.

"Well, go on." Steve nodded his head at the house once they'd both parked.

"But what's our cover story?" Tony looked at him, and for a genius, Tony could be remarkably slow.

"Try this one." Steve crossed his arms. "You decided to goad your abusive father into hitting you on camera to use against him without telling anyone where you were going or what you were doing."

"You're really bad at cover stories."

"And you're not so hot at listening." Steve frowned. "But if you won't listen to me, maybe you'll listen to my mother."

"You're kidding. Right? You can't seriously expect me to go in there and  _tell_ her."

"That's exactly what I expect. I'll do the talking if you want me to, but one of us is telling her."

"But I…come on, Steve." Tony ducked his head. "She'll look at me different. And it's over now anyway, so what does it matter?"

"It matters," Steve insisted, "She's going to want to know where your injuries are from, and I think she suspects it already so she's certainly not going to let the subject drop. Not to mention I'm fairly sure she's going to figure out you're  _living here_  at some point and be rightfully concerned about why."

"You Rogers' are stubborn as hell," Tony muttered.

"I'm sorry,  _which_ of us is stubborn?" Steve demanded incredulously.

"What?" Tony looked at him innocently. "I said 'I love you baby please don't make me do this'."

"I'm not making you do anything, Tony." Steve sighed. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. I understand that. But one of us is going to tell her what's going on. Is it you or me?"

Tony scowled at him.

"Y'know, it was a lot easier to get away with shit when I didn't have a walking moral compass following me around."

"Sorry my presence is so inconvenient for you." Steve rolled his eyes.

"You know what's  _really_ inconvenient?"

"What?"

"School. How am I supposed to reach my daily kissing quota with all those classes in the way?"

"We're not missing any more school, Tony." Steve rolled his eyes again, but it was fonder than before, probably because Tony was inching closer, backing him up against the car so he could loop his arms around Steve's waist. He knew he should be strong, should stay angry, but God Almighty was he weak for Tony. "Really. I mean it. It's been two weeks, we're already so behind—"

"Come on, your mom still needs R&R." Tony pulled him closer, nuzzling his neck. "I think she could definitely use some strapping young men to help around the house, don't you?"

"Kiss my neck all you want, if you think she's letting us miss another day you're crazier than I thought."

"Maybe I just like kissing your neck." Tony nipped him lightly. "Who said I was even talking about us? I know this great guy, blonde hair, blue eyes, built like a superhero. One time, some douchebag tried to touch me, and he knocked him flat on his ass. It was very sweet."

"It was horrible and should never have had to happen." Steve tried to stay firm, but with Tony's teeth scraping lightly over his skin, it was laughably hard. "Though I'll admit it was satisfying."

"Damn right it was."

"You've got to watch the swearing." Steve chuckled, raising a hand to take Tony's chin, tip his head back. "She really will wash your mouth out."

"You're the one who called me a fucking idiot."

"Because you are one." Steve stood by that, though he dipped forward for a kiss. "My idiot."

"Are you boys going to keep necking on the front lawn all morning, or are you coming in for breakfast?" His mother called from the front door, and Tony burst into laughter.

Steve just ducked his head far enough down to hide his flushed face in Tony's shoulder with a muffled groan of, "Oh, God."

"Coming!" Tony called back exuberantly, gleefully unembarrassed. Steve envied him. "I'm starved. I mean, unless Steve wants to 'neck' some mor—"

"We're coming, Mom." Steve quickly talked over Tony, breaking his hold and heading for the house. He shot Tony a serious look over his shoulder, whispering, "One of us is telling her."

"I'll do it, jeez, can I eat breakfast first?" Tony grumbled.

"I'd say yes." Steve shrugged. "But she's going to take one look at your face and say no."

"Is it bad?" Tony winced.

"It's not good." Steve bit his lip. "Are your ribs okay?"

"I'm fine."

"She's a nurse. She'll know if you're lying."

"I'll  _be_ fine."

"I wish you had talked to me." Steve sighed, altogether feeling very helpless.

"You never would've agreed to it." Tony shook his head.

"I'd rather spend the rest of my life paying back that money than this," Steve told him honestly, miserably.

"I know." Tony made an interesting face, lips twitching in thoughtful amusement. "Y'know, I remember what I was thinking, before. About you, about alphas. I remember how I felt, how strongly I felt it, and all the reasons why, but it still feels incredibly strange that I ever looked at you and worried. You're like my own personal teddy bear."

"Hey." Steve wrinkled his nose, borderline offended. He'd probably be closer to offence if it wasn't so laughably true.

"No, no, it's a good metaphor. You're a teddy bear for me, but when I need you you're like an actual bear, you go all grizzly and knock fuckers out."

"I didn't knock him out, Tony—"

"Didn't you? He hit the ground pretty hard—"

"Great, you're already exaggerating." Steve rolled his eyes. "By the time you tell our friends tomorrow, I'll be flying in through the window in tights and a cape."

"Your ass would look fantastic in spandex."

"Shut up, Tony."

They headed inside. Steve's mom had her back to them when they entered the kitchen, but it was very obvious at what exact moment she first saw Tony's face.

"Anthony Edward Stark, what in God's name have you been up to?"

"Uh." Tony swallowed. "Can I eat breakfast first?"

"Come here." She snapped her fingers, no room for discussion. Tony complied hastily, and she tilted his chin back and side to side, examining. "Where is it? Just your face?"

"Yeah." Tony said, then, when Steve glared at him, he muttered, "And my stomach."

"Did they hit any ribs?"

"I don't kno— _ow!"_ Tony yelped loudly when she applied pressure to a lower one. "Yes, okay, yes, he got my ribs—"

"What caused the cut?"

"Alumni ring."

Her eyes narrowed sharply, but she didn't comment on it.

"Sit on the counter here, we're going to wash it out with some soap so it doesn't get infected. Steven, get him an ice pack for those bruises."

"I'm fine, really, it's just—"

"Sit."

Tony sat. Steve fetched the ice pack before coming to stand in front of him, examining him worriedly. The cut wasn't deep but it was long, a thin line on the right side of his face starting just above his jaw, up and across to his nose. It was still bleeding a bit, the red on that cheek contrasting with the dark, splotchy purple bruises high on his other. Tony moved to take the ice pack, but Steve shook his head.

"Let me."

He pressed it to Tony's cheek gently, hating the flicker of pain in Tony's eyes as he gave a little hiss of discomfort. Steve sighed anxiously, wondering how far things would've gone this time if Howard had been enraged enough to leave such obvious injuries. The thought still made him angry, but it also made him feel horribly useless. Tony had been going through this for years while he'd just sat on his hands. What suffering could he have saved Tony from, if he'd spoken up sooner? If he'd introduced himself that first day, or the second or third or any day after? If he'd befriended Tony, instead of wallowing in his own self-consciousness, telling himself Tony would never be interested? Tony _had_ been interested, even when he'd looked the way he had; Tony had said as much. Even if he hadn't been, they could've been friends. Steve could've helped. Not only had Steve shot himself in the foot romantically—he could've been with Tony for years now—but he'd left Tony to deal with this alone. Some soulmate he was.

"Stop it."

"Does it hurt?" Steve quickly pulled his hand back, worried he'd accidentally pressed too hard.

"No, not that—the blame, stop it." Tony took his hand tightly. "It's not your fault, Steve. I mean it. You're brooding so hard I can practically hear your thoughts, and I don't like any of them."

"I'm not brooding, I'm just…" Steve sighed tiredly, pressing the washcloth back against Tony's cheek. "I should've been there sooner."

"Come on, you know me." Tony put on a grin. "I'm tough."

"You shouldn't have to be."

"Life's shitty that way sometimes." Tony shrugged mildly, and his showy grin faded into a genuine smile. "But hey, I got you. That's worth every curveball life can throw at me."

"I'll excuse the language in light of the wonderful things you say about my son—"

"Mom—" Steve started, embarrassed.

"—but that's your only warning, Tony." His mom tapped an ear. "I'll be listening."

"Yes ma'am," Tony responded with a quirked grin.

"Smart boy."

Finished retrieving and wetting a washcloth, she pressed it to Tony's cut, applying pressure as she cleared it of dirt. She turned back to the sink, adding a little dishsoap to the cloth, and Tony eyed it warily.

"Is this going to sting? Because I kind of feel like this is going to sting."

She didn't answer, just nudged Steve out of the way to start scrubbing the cloth over the cut. Steve gave her room to work but was unwilling to go far, admittedly still hovering over Tony in spite of his mother's obvious proficiency. She washed the wound thoroughly, even with Tony's wriggling.

"Sit still dear, for goodness sake. The cleaner it is, the less likely it is to scar."

"Scar? I might have a  _scar?"_ Tony's eyes went wide, and he clutched Steve's hand. "But I'd still be handsome, right?"

"You're so dramatic." Steve rolled his eyes.

"That didn't sound like a yes—"

"Yes, Tony, I'd still love you if you had a scar."

"I didn't ask if you'd love me, I asked if I'd still be handsome!" Tony moaned. "I'm ugly, aren't I? Tell it to me straight, just be honest with me—"

"You know I can tell when you're just fishing for compliments."

"Are you gonna call me scarface now?"

"Why on earth would I start calling you 'scarface'?"

"I don't know, I think it'd be kinda cool actually—"

"I'm not going to call you 'scarface', Tony."

"There, all done." His mom dropped the washcloth in the sink. "Not so bad, huh scarface?"

"See!" Tony grinned. "Your mom likes it!"

"I doubt it'll scar." She chuckled. "It's so thin it doesn't even need closures. It'll heal up fine in the next day or so, and since it's clean the mark will likely be gone a few days after. The bruising will take longer, but the cheekbone isn't broken so it'll just take time. As for your ribs, does it hurt to breath, or laugh?"

"No. Really, I'm fine, it's not a big—"

"Tickle him." She instructed Steve.

"What?" Steve blinked.

"I don't believe him." She narrowed her eyes at Tony skeptically. "Make him laugh."

"If you tickle me, Steve, I swear to god—" Tony warned, but Steve ignored him, going straight for the spot under Tony's knee he knew would get an immediate reaction.

Tony laughed until he couldn't breathe, but he didn't seem to be in pain. Steve would know if there was a spike, after all.

"Alright." Steve's mom nodded once, decisively. "Good. That means your bruising there is very minor. I still want you icing it today, but you'll be fine for school tomorrow."

"Did I say I was fine? I meant I'm dying, my ribs, ah, I can't breathe—"

"I'm going to school tomorrow whether you are or not, Tony." Steve rolled his eyes.

"Buzzkill," Tony grumbled.

"Steven, get him another ice pack for his ribs," his mom directed, "Tony, with me."

She led him out into the living room while Steve retrieved the second ice pack. He followed after them shortly, entering the room to hear Tony protest in vain while his mom bustled about, gathering blankets and propping up pillows.

"You were in a  _car accident,_ why am  _I_ being fussed over? Really,this is no big deal, I—"

"My body had a week and a half of complete rest to recover." She wasn't taking no for an answer, and she steered Tony onto the couch. "You haven't."

"Wait." Steve stopped Tony from lying down, maneuvering onto the couch so when Tony did lie down his head was in Steve's lap. It was the best way to ice Tony's face, and Steve didn't want to be very far from him at the moment anyway. His heart still hurt at the memory of Howard advancing on his mate.

"I can't decide which of you is fussier." Tony scowled. Steve just carefully pressed one of the ice packs to his bruised face in response, handing Tony the other so he could put it on his ribs himself.

"Now, let's hear it." His mother's voice held no room for argument.

Steve looked down at Tony, brushed a few stray wisps of hair back from his forehead. He was willing to tell the story if it was too hard for Tony, but it wasn't his decision. Tony glanced up at him, and Steve smiled reassuringly.

"I provoked my father." Tony sighed.

"This has happened before." It wasn't a question.

"Couple times," Tony said, then, clearly trying to be honest, "More than…more than a couple times."

"Just your father?"

"Yeah." Tony gave an awkward, stiff shrug. "My mom ignores it."

"I noticed a lot of your things in Steve's room." Steve caught the little spike of worry from Tony's half of the bond, but before he could say a word, his mom continued. "Was this planned?"

"I'm sorry, I know it's your house and I should've asked you—" Tony began, but she waved him off.

"Don't be silly, you're welcome to stay as long as you like. I thought I'd made that much obvious." She took Tony's hand. "Is there anything you need from your house?"

"No, I—" Tony glanced at Steve, clearly startled by how easily Steve's mom had let him come to live with them, but Steve just smiled. He'd told him so. "I'm fine. We cleared out my projects, and stuffed two suitcases full of my clothes and any important stuff. We also, uh. The reason we, er, I, Steve wasn't really onboard with—or, aware of, actually—the plan, but the reason I went back was to get video. So we have video evidence that he. Y'know." Tony made a vague gesture at his injuries. "Did this."

"How did you provoke him?" Steve's mom asked.

"He, uh." Tony glanced at Steve. "Remember the night we had that fight?"

"Of course." Steve threaded his fingers through Tony's hair. "You were hurt during the game."

"He found out I was bonded. He told me that night to find a way to break it, or he would. When I went back today, I told him I wasn't going to. I told him…" Tony swallowed hard. "I told him I liked being your omega."

Steve could feel the sincerity of Tony's words, could feel that as much as he'd said it because he'd known it was a trigger for Howard, he'd also meant it. That he felt  _guilty_ for meaning it.

"That's good, at least." Steve's mom sighed. "Nothing he could contest was threatening, not that a defense plea would hold a lick of water."

"Defense plea?"

"You ought to report him, Tony," she told him gently.

"Maybe." Tony didn't look convinced. All Steve felt from his half of the bond was a sudden, overwhelming exhaustion that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. "I just want it to be done."

Steve resisted the urge to hold Tony closer, cradle him against his chest and never let go. It was impractical and would probably hurt Tony's ribs, but there were so many old wounds in his voice that Steve just ached for him. His strength came from the scars he'd endured, but Steve couldn't help wishing he hadn't had to be quite so strong. His mother must have felt the same, because she stood, mind made up.

"Then it's done. I'm going to go finish up breakfast, you two are going to pick a movie, and we're all just going to tend to our wounds, eat breakfast on the couch, and take a day off of life." She patted Tony's hand, leaning in to press a kiss to each of their foreheads before returning to the kitchen.

"I don't know what you've done to my mother," Steve told Tony fondly, "But she's never let  _me_ eat on the couch before."

"That's because you eat like a starved animal."

"Why does everyone pick on me for that? I like food, alright? Thor's worse than I a—"

Tony pushed Steve's hand and the ice pack out of the way to sit up, cupping his jaw and kissing him softly. It was sweet, slow and unhurried, ending only when Steve felt Tony wince and try to hide it.

"Don't hurt yourself." Steve pushed him back down gently. "What movie do you want?"

"I meant what I said," Tony told him instead.

"I tend to assume you do." Steve gave him a curious look. "What did you say?"

"I like being your omega." Tony made a strange, frustrated sort of face as he tried to clarify. "I don't like being—I mean, I do, I like being with you, I love being with you, but it's not just being with you, or being yours, it's, I like being your  _omega._ AndI always thought if I did find someone, I'd love being with them in spite of it. That I'd still wish I was the alpha, still wish I could be in control, but I'd love them enough to deal with it. But you…" Tony gave a soft, vulnerable little smile, and Steve was certain he'd never been more in love with Tony than at that moment. He was just as certain that he'd be even more in love with him the next day, and the next day, and every day after that for the rest of their lives. "It's not 'okay', or something I can 'put up with'. I _like_  being your  _omega_ , Steve. You don't make me feel incapable or out of control, and you do fuss a lot and get overprotective sometimes but you just  _love me_ and I couldn't possibly deserve that, couldn't deserve  _you,_  but you never make me feel that way and I just—"

"You do." Steve kissed him silent, though the kiss was brief, not enough to express the words dying to burst from his lips. "You  _do_. God Almighty, Tony, I was made for you. How can you say you don't deserve me when all I've ever been is yours?"

Tony shuddered and arched up, kissing him again, this time with hurried, desperate longing. It took every ounce of willpower Steve could muster to remember that his mom was in the next room, that she'd likely be coming back soon, when all he seemed able to think about now was how very much he wanted Tony. How much he wanted to bond with him again,  _really_ bond with him; no pretenses, no one-night-only desperation, no safeguarding his feelings in the hopes Tony wouldn't run. He thought he'd been laid bare the first time…he couldn't imagine what it would be like having sex with their bond as open as it was.

He couldn't think about that. He willed his thoughts back to safer territory—mom in the kitchen, Tony had bruised ribs anyway—and ended the kiss.

"My, Steve, what a soft pillow you make." Tony smirked, rubbing the back of his head a bit against Steve's very…firm lap.

"Shut up." Steve flushed.

"Wonder what we should do about that—"

"Stop being a tease," Steve grumbled, knowing full well there was nothing to be done for the moment, their situation being what it was.

"Like I ever could." Tony snorted. "Just think about dead puppies or something."

"Why is dead puppies always the first resort? I've never seen one, how would I even imagine tha—" Steve froze, because he suddenly knew  _exactly_ what he could think about.

"Wow." Tony furrowed his brow after a beat, glancing up at Steve. "I'm not sure if I should be impressed or offended by how fast you got rid of that. What did you even think of?"

Steve stayed silent.

"Oh my  _god!"_ Tony made a disgusted face. "Don't think of my dad when you have a boner! Christ, Steve!"

"I didn't think of  _him,"_ Steve clarified quickly, "Just…the look on his face when he reached for you. How terrified it made me, how furious."

There was a long pause.

"It's still fucking gross."

"At least it worked."

"Whatever," Tony grumbled, "To make up for the trauma _that's_  going to give me, I get to pick the movie."

"Sure, Tony," Steve just replaced the ice pack on his cheek, still carding through Tony's hair softly. He'd been going to let Tony choose anyway.

* * *

Halfway through the lunch line, Steve got a text from Clint.

_tashas bout 2 straight up murder ur bf dude_

Steve chuckled, balancing the two trays he was carrying in one precarious hand to shoot back a reply. They'd been together nearly two months now, but Steve was fairly sure the fact that Tony would always find ways to get into trouble was the only thing about him that could be described as 'predictable'.

_What did he do now?_

_told evry1 shes on her cycle_

_But Natasha's an alpha._

_not the omega thing, the woman thing_

_Oh. Do I even want to know why?_

_2 b fair she told every1 about his 1_ _st_

_He's not on it right now though._

_right, but janes friend darcy asked why he wasnt in class all last week and tasha said 'cycle' and tony said 'wtf nat i don't tell ppl when ur on ur cycle' and nat said 'u dont hav that info 2 share' and tony said 'oh so i guess u just normally carry pnk packets in ur purse' so yeah tasha's gonna kill him come quickly and do the alpha roar_

_I don't roar, Clint._

_Whtevr do the thing u do w/ur eyes that makes ppl regret their life choices so she'll spare him_

"Hey, buddy." The lunchlady waved a hand at him. "You payin' or what?"

"Yes, sorry." Steve passed over his student ID. She swiped it and handed it back, and Steve quickly made his way out of the cafeteria and over to their table outside.

Where Natasha had Tony pinned on the ground in something vaguely similar to a sleeper hold.

"Break it up." Steve sighed, depositing both lunch trays on the table before squatting down next to them and smiling at Natasha calmly. "Natasha, let go of my mate before I make you."

"назойливый человек," Natasha muttered at him, but released Tony. Steve held out a hand to him.

"I need a damn Russian dictionary to decode your insults these days," Tony grumbled, rubbing his neck with one hand and accepting Steve's hand up with the other. Steve pulled him into a quick, chaste hello kiss before they took their seats at the table.

"She called Steve a pesky meddler," Bucky offered. Natasha swatted him. "Sorry."

"Learning a whole new language for her." Steve chuckled with a little roll of his eyes. "But, hey, of course you're not bondmates. That would just be ridiculous."

Bucky and Natasha continued to deny there was anything between them. Everyone knew better at this point, but only Steve and Sam could needle Bucky about it without getting smacked.

"Shut up Captain Domestic, no one asked you," Bucky grouched.

" _I'd_  ask you," Tony told Steve mostly to irritate Bucky, his favorite hobby, twining their fingers together on the table.

"Can it, Lieutenant Lovesick." Clint snorted. Bucky high-fived him.

"Nice one."

"You only rode my ass to talk him for years." Tony rolled his eyes. "Now I'm in a stable, committed bond with the guy, and I'm 'Lieutenant Lovesick'. Make up your mind, Barton."

"The nicknames will stop when looking at you no longer makes me feel like less of a man," Clint told them, "Seriously, watching you two fetch each other's books and buy each other's lunches and walk hand in hand everywhere giggling like middle schoolers makes me feel like I need to go build a car from scratch or punch a grizzly bear or something else manly."

There was a long moment of silence.

"I'm concerned about you," Rhodey said at last.

"I think we all are," Sam agreed.

"Nothing new there," Bruce chuckled.

"Well, I think you two are sweet," Pepper decided, "And that as with most things, you should ignore Clint completely."

"Verily! Let not Clinton's teasing dissuade you from your heart's desires!" Thor declared, pounding a fist on the table enthusiastically. "Love should be expressed however one so chooses!"

"Thanks for the support, big guy." Tony glanced up at Steve with a grin. "Think I've got this one, though."

"You mean you're not going to dump me so Clint can feel like a man? I can't believe it." Steve kept a perfect poker face, until Tony smiled, and Steve couldn't have resisted the urge to kiss him if he'd tried.

"You guys are assholes," Clint grunted.

"I know something that could make you feel like more of a man." Tony broke their kiss to smirk at Clint. "I do it all the time, always helps. Did it just this morning, actually."

"What is it?" Clint raised a skeptical eyebrow. Steve gave a loud, embarrassed groan.

"Tony, come on—"

"See, there's this thing." Tony ignored Steve completely, telling Clint in a mock informative voice, "It's called gay sex, and it's literally twice as manly as—"

"You dick, I fucking hate you." Clint shoved Tony nearly off the bench. Steve caught him before he actually fell, of course, but Tony just howled with laughter.

"Oh my god, you heard him, he fell for it, he literally  _asked_ for it— _"_

Clint threw his apple at Tony, who just leaned into Steve and laughed harder. The others gave a somewhat collective sigh at their antics; Bruce returned to the discussion he'd had with Jane and Pepper, Thor and Sam continued their argument with Rhodey over last week's play. Clint demanded Natasha defend him and Bucky called him an idiot in Russian, which sparked protest from Clint and amusement from Natasha, though she tried to hide it by primly correcting Bucky's pronunciation.

Tony leaned into Steve more, though he'd stopped laughing, playing with their connected fingers and watching their friends. Steve didn't need to be bonded to him to feel the happy, easy peace that radiated from him these days, something he wasn't sure he'd ever stop being endlessly grateful for.


	18. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

"It all started in the first week of last year…Tony was an asshole and Steve was insecure, until they accidentally soulbonded which they somehow thought meant they hated each other, until bad stuff happened and they realized hey, shit, maybe we're dumbasses, they got together, and the rest is history."

"Oh come on, that's not how it happened _,"_ Tony rolled his eyes, breaking his kiss with Steve reluctantly, shifting until his back was against Steve's chest so he could re-engage in the conversation. "Clint's our resident drama queen, ignore him."

"Uh, okay." New kid shrugged. "I guess you're right, it's not like you can soulbond accidentally, anyway."

Tony and Steve exchanged a glance.

"Well, uh, actually, that part was true," Steve admitted.

"Really?" New kid's eyes went wide.

"They were a particularly special kind of oblivious." Bruce chuckled.

"A kind called stupid." Clint snorted.

"Don't listen to him," Steve advised the new kid, though he was looking at Tony as he spoke, smiling softly, "We were just…going about things in our own way, that's all."

"Right." New kid still seemed wary of Steve, which Tony of course found hysterical. Steve's whole discriminate-against-my-omega-and-I-will-fuck-you- up shtick was surprisingly effective in spite of his general state of loveable cuddliness.

"You look like you're gonna wet your pants or something," Tony snickered, "Relax, Steve's a teddy bear."

"Right." New kid repeated himself, fiddling with his backpack anxiously.

"He's telling the truth, really." Jane agreed. "If you don't have problems with omegas or Tony, you don't have problems with Steve."

"He's overprotective." Tony tipped his head back so it fell against Steve's chest, and he could look up at his ridiculous mate with what was probably an equally ridiculous smile. "But he means well."

"They're right, I didn't mean to make you nervous." Steve gave an abashed smile, scratching the back of his neck. "Sorry, Peter."

Peter, was that new kid's name? Tony probably would've remembered better if he hadn't been preoccupied watching Steve's gorgeous lips move instead of listening to what was actually coming out of them. It wasn't  _his_ fault he was distracted, he had more important things on his mind than some new yearbook kid Clint was recruiting. Today was his eighteenth birthday and he knew exactly how he wanted to spend it, aside from the general "not at school" part that both Steve and his mother had nixed. Tony had plans for tonight; very important, very sexy plans. He hadn't told Steve yet, of course, that'd ruin the surprise, but he also couldn't bring himself to stop thinking about it for any length of time. His attention span was, understandably, suffering the consequences.

"—ony."

"What?" Tony blinked. He'd been staring at Steve's lips again.

"Peter was talking to you." Steve smiled at him in amusement.

"Oh." Tony glanced over at the kid. "What?"

"No, it's not, uh, important, I just. They said you're student body president, right? I just said that's cool, you must've worked really hard."

"Pepper does most of it. I sign things." Tony waved off the praise.

"They won Homecoming couple last year," Pepper explained to Peter, "Not only are they SHIELD High's only soulbonded couple, but between Steve's popularity with the social crowd and Tony's popularity with the AP crowd—"

"Jock King," Tony jerked a thumb at Steve, then himself, "Nerd King. Very romantic, or so we've heard."

"—everyone knows them," Pepper continued, ignoring Tony's disruption, "It was obvious either one of them would win president if they even half-assed a run. I figured I could use Tony's popularity to my advantage and actually do some good for the school."

"Like I said, kid." Clint snorted. "Most efficient life-ruiner you'll ever meet."

"Well, _I'm_  the one who very diplomatically agreed," Tony defended himself.

"By which he means that he whined and complained about how much work it would be until Steve gave him the puppy dog eyes about doing the right thing and helping improve the school, and he caved like paper mâché in a hurricane," Bruce corrected without even looking up from his book.

"Lies," Tony declared. Steve chuckled, and Tony turned to shoot him a look. "Hey, I agreed for the benefit of everyone. I don't do things just because you bat your baby blues at me, y'know."

"Of course not." Steve didn't sound like he particularly believed that, but he leaned in for a kiss and Tony decided—very diplomatically, because he was tactful like that—that Steve-kisses were more important than arguing his point further.

The conversation probably continued around them, but Tony lost track of it. The rest of lunch passed as it usually did, a blur of disjointed conversations marked by Steve-kisses in between. By the end of lunch Clint had talked Peter into joining yearbook and Jane had him signing up for science club, so Tony made a point to try and actually commit the guy's name to memory. Also, he made a note to remember to warn him about Johnny before he went to science club; Storm would eat a cute, bumbling little beta like Peter alive.

Eventually the bell rang, and Steve offered Tony a hand up. The group parted ways, splitting off to go to their different classes, though Steve stayed right in step with Tony. They had a fair amount of classes together; Tony may or may not have had a hand in that, though administration couldn't  _prove_ he'd made it through their firewalls, so really, it was irrelevant. There were a few things, like that Steve took AP Art for his last class while Tony had AP Physics, but for the most part they could stick together.

They made it through the rest of the usual day-to-day drudgery fairly quickly, and Tony was packing up after physics when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned excitedly, and it was only Pepper preemptively slapping a hand over Tony's mouth that prevented him from accidentally kissing her.

"You're not Steve," Tony mumbled into Pepper's hand.

"Thanks for noticing." Pepper gave a dainty little snort, handing Tony a rose with a slip of paper tied to it by a red ribbon.

"You're sweet, Pepper-pot, but I'm taken."

"It's not from me, idiot." Pepper rolled his eyes.

Steve had been hinting about his plans for Tony's birthday for weeks, though he'd insisted on staying mum about the particulars. Tony was admittedly impatient, and had been guessing what the plans were all week. Was this part of it? Steve was always so  _elaborate_ when he got romantic.

"From Steve?"

"No, your other soulmate."

"Always so sarcastic." Tony grinned, untying the ribbon and opening the note.

_Because it only took one smile._

"Any clue what this is supposed to mean?" Tony raised an eyebrow at Pepper.

"It's a scavenger hunt." She shrugged. "I don't know what the note says, but it's supposed to lead you to the next clue. He said there's eighteen total, and he'll wait for you at the last one."

"Uh." Tony tried to think of the eighteen places most important to them, drawing a map in his head. "That sounds like it's going to take me a while."

"Don't look at me." Pepper just shrugged. "He said to tell you using the bond to find him is cheating though, and if you ruin the surprise he won't speak to you for a month."

"Then off we go, I guess." Tony slung his backpack over his shoulder. "I think I know where this one leads, at least. The bleachers are probably next, if he's thinking linearly—"

"I'm just the messenger." Pepper held up her hands. "You get to run this obstacle course of love on your own."

"What? But this could take hours!" Tony protested, "Come on, Pep, I'll be bored just driving around alone for hours."

"Places to go, butts to kick into line." Pepper pulled him into a quick hug before heading out the door. "I don't even know why he set this whole thing up in the first place, but just have fun with it, alright? I'm sure he has his reasons."

Tony resisted the urge to gape. Seriously? Pepper was the second real friend he'd ever made; they'd known each more than a decade! How could she completely forget it was Tony's birthday? But she was already out of the classroom before Tony could compose himself enough for so much as a "what the hell?", so he just gave a grumpy sigh instead, pulling out his phone and hitting speed dial as he headed out of the classroom. Steve picked up on the first ring.

"You're the only one who loves me."

"You know that's not true."Tony could practically hear the fond eye roll that surely accompanied Steve's words.

"Literally everyone except you forgot my birthday. Not just any birthday, either, my  _eighteenth_ birthday. Come on, what the hell's up with that?"

"I'm sure they'll remember before the day's over, Tony," Steve assured him, "They probably just had busy mornings. I take it Pepper gave you my note?"

"A scavenger hunt? Really?"

"It's of all our important moments, and the clues are reasons I love you. It'll be fun, I promise." Steve was using his best wheedling voice, and Tony knew if they were face to face, he'd be on the receiving end of some brutally adorable puppy dog eyes.

"Alright, alright. Man, every time I think you can't get any sappier, you prove me wrong." Tony smiled fondly. Yeah, okay, Steve could be ridiculous, but it was sweet. He knew exactly how to be romantic enough to blow Tony away, without being obnoxious about it.

"I couldn't really think of anything good to get you—"

"Steve, come on, I don't need anything—"

It was a cliché response, but it was true. Tony liked to build, to create. He didn't hold on to trinkets, certainly wasn't any kind of hoarder. He didn't need much in the way of things; running around town, reliving good memories, presumably with Steve at the end to make a few more? That was more than good enough for Tony any day.

"I knew you'd say that." Steve laughed. "Which is why I did this, instead."

"God, please tell me Thor's house isn't on this list of yours."

"I had to leave that one out." Steve gave a little sigh that Tony could tell meant he'd wanted to. "An hour's drive would've taken too long."

"How are you even getting to wherever this final destination of yours is? I drove you to school."

"Bucky's driving me."

"Why don't you just come with me on the hunt instead?" Tony put on his most convincing voice. "I won't even beg you for extra hints."

"Yes you would." Tony could practically hear the eye roll. "But I can't anyway, I have to get the final surprise ready."

"Aw c'mon, Steve, what fun is it if you're not coming with me?"

"I'll stay on the phone with you the whole time, if you want."

"You'd better. I can't believe you're abandoning me on my eighteenth birthday."

"I'm not abandoning you, Tony." Steve laughed. "It's just for an hour or so. Be patient."

"When I find you, you'd better be naked," Tony grumbled.

"Is that a threat or a promise?" Steve asked, his voice dropping to that one, too-seductive register that would always give Tony anticipatory shivers.

"Both," Tony responded, a fair amount of seductive promise in his own voice, "I've got a surprise of my own for tonight."

"Really?" Good, he'd piqued Steve's curiosity. "What is it?"

"Now who doesn't understand the word 'surprise'?" Tony smirked.

"Fair enough." Steve chuckled.

"Call you back in a minute, I'm heading into the biology room."

Tony hung up and glanced around, waving to the teacher and saying he'd just be a minute. He checked his old lab table, then Steve's, then the front of the classroom. Nothing. He was about to ask, when the teacher chuckled and pointed out the sticky note stuck to the top of the doorway. Tony grinned, thanked him, and found a stool to stand on so he could retrieve the note.

_Because even when the odds are seventeen to one, you're fiercely courageous and refuse to back down._

The bleachers, obviously, even if the phrasing was strange. Tony pulled out his phone again, waving a quick goodbye to his former teacher as he hit dial.

"Seventeen to one?"

"That's how many players are on our lacrosse team."

"It still amazes me they didn't just beat us both up."

"I wouldn't have let them touch you," Steve told him, clearly somewhat indignant at being doubted.

"Please." Tony snorted. "We both know exactly how your protective streak would've gone over back then. You would've told me to run, I would've assumed you thought I couldn't hold my own, we'd have both stayed, and we'd have both gotten our asses kicked."

"It's too bad," Steve admitted, "Going to the nurse's together could've at least been a bonding experience."

"That would've been awkward when Hill walked in." Tony grinned.

"I didn't mean  _that_  kind of bonding, Tony." Tony could tell Steve was blushing by the tone of his voice, though he was trying to sound exasperated. "I'm pretty sure we could get expelled for that."

"One way to find out…"

"No."

"Buzzkill." Tony clicked his tongue. "C'mon, tell me that time in the science club classroom wasn't fun."

"That was a bad idea—"

"That was a fantastic idea, don't lie, you were into it. And Jane's the one who cancelled the meeting, it's not like the classroom was being used or anything."

"We're not doing that again, Tony."

"Y'know, that's what you keep saying, but I have some very fond memories behind the bleachers. And in the supply closet. And the bathroom."

"We're going to get caught."

"Not if we're careful."

"You're not careful!" Steve protested, "You're loud!"

"Are you complaining?"

"I am when you do it on purpose!"

"It's not my fault I'm such a sucker for your blush," Tony teased.

"You're going to get us expelled." Steve sighed.

"Oh, please." Tony made the hand gesture for waving him off, in spite of the fact that Steve couldn't actually see him. "We're legal adults engaging in consensual, soulbonded sex, we'd get a talking to at best."

"I don't think you understand the disciplinary system at all."

"Coulson's got a soft spot for you a mile wide, he'd talk Fury into letting us off the hook for sure."

"I think any favoritism might evaporate if he finds me doing that sort of thing on campus."

The second sticky note was stuck right under the bleachers Tony had tackled Tiberius by more than a year ago. He plucked it off, scanning it with a smile.

_Because you pretended not to understand History just to talk to me._

"You knew I was faking?

"What?" Steve asked, then, "Oh, you found the next note. To be honest, I only know you were faking now. At the time, I was mostly just hoping you wouldn't realize I was faking too."

"Okay, in retrospect, I kind of understand why our friends were so pissy about how long it took us to get our heads out of our asses," Tony admitted.

It was funny, thinking back to before they'd gotten together. In retrospect, the little things were so obvious; they'd been drawn to each other with little more than a smile. They'd played stare tag for the better half of two years. Tony had always walked by Steve's desk, Steve had always covered his sketchbook when he did. Tony had come to Steve for help with homework in spite of being completely aware of a little thing called google, Steve had always taken hours to eventually get around to giving answers. Steve passed him doodle-filled notes in class. Tony came to all his games. The lingering looks Tony had assumed were about his status had only ever been about him. The attempts to bed him Steve had assumed were about getting a one-off had just been a last ditch effort at something Tony thought was out of his reach.

They'd made a million assumptions. Guess the whole "when you assume" thing was pretty true, at least for them. But they'd come so far it didn't matter anymore, not really. They'd managed to make something wonderful, something damn near perfect, together; who cared what disasters it came from?

Tony ran around for another hour, following each moment, each fumbled chance and moment of realization and special date. He hadn't even realized how far they'd come until he replayed it all. He went everywhere from the hospital parking lot where Steve had first said "I love you" to the restaurant they'd had their first date. God, Tony remembered that one; they'd gotten lost on the drive over, had to forfeit their reservations due to lateness, and ended up getting food poisoning from the world's shittiest burgers at some dime a dozen diner two blocks over. They'd spent the night sick to their stomachs, but unable to stop laughing hysterically about the fact that they couldn't even manage to get a first date right.

He had to drive around downtown, too—the sushi place their first disaster-free date had taken place in, the part of sidewalk that had the TS + SR in a heart Tony had talked Steve into writing with him into the wet cement, the arcade they'd gotten a high score on Galaga at. Steve hadn't been able to leave sticky notes in most of these places—though Mr. Sato of SushiLand had been cool with it—so when Tony made it to each place, Steve just relayed the next reason/clue over the phone.

It was a little ridiculous, but as Steve had promised, it was definitely fun. He didn't even mind being left alone, mostly because Steve stayed on the phone with him the whole time.

"Last one." Steve told him finally, a smile in his voice. "Because you didn't kill me when I woke you up at four am in the morning."

Tony's throat stuck.

On their one year anniversary, the bastard had woken Tony up at four in the morning, shoved two canisters of black coffee into his hands, and rolled him out of bed. They hadn't even changed out of pajamas, Steve had just made Tony put a shirt on before all but carrying him and two backpacks out the door. The ten minute car ride was made up almost entirely of Tony swearing about being awake, whining about being awake, and theorizing about how Steve had clearly been replaced by an alien but postulating that he refused to have sex with the alien no matter how hot that might be because his heart belonged to the real Steve. Eventually they made it to Bucky's apartment building, and Steve used Bucky's building code to get them in, leading Tony up ten flights of stairs to the roof in time to watch the sun rise.

The two backpacks Steve had brought contained food, blankets, and video games, and from sunrise to sunset, they spent their entire anniversary alone together on that rooftop. They talked for hours about anything and everything that came to mind. They talked about their past, about their future. About themselves, their friends, the world; the dreams they'd had, the plans they'd made, where they wanted to end up. They talked until talking became kissing, until kissing became making love. When their energy for that ran out they ate lunch and played MarioKart, until they got into a fight that turned into wrestling that turning into making a little more love. Tony threw Steve's sandwich off the roof for some obscure reason he couldn't remember now that probably had something to do with the MarioKart fight. He definitely remembered laughing so hard they nearly pissed themselves when it actually hit someone ten stories below.

It had been unequivocally the best day of Tony's entire life.

"Yeah?" Tony grinned over the line.

"Yeah." Steve was grinning too, Tony could hear it in his voice.

"I'm five minutes away. I wasn't kidding about you being naked."

"I'm not getting naked, Tony. Someone could come up before you."

"Put a cinderblock in front of the door like last time."

"Then how would you get up?" Steve laughed.

"At least take your shirt off. Maybe your pants. Hey, while you're at it, underwear too—"

"I'll see you soon, Tony."

"Is that a yes or a no?" Tony tried to ask, but Steve had hung up already.

After ten minutes of trying to find a parking spot Tony eventually gave up, overpaid for a spot in the closest parking garage, and nearly got hit by a car while eagerly jaywalking across the street. After dodging that bullet, he punched in the code to Bucky's building and all but ran up the stairs, his excitement and anticipation growing with every step.

Yeah, okay, he was a little nervous too, but it was a good nervous. An eager kind of nervous. He was ready, he  _knew_ he was ready, and where better to try it than here? There was the sentimental value, but it'd also be nice that they could shove the cinderblock in front of the door and know they'd be left alone. They were both iffy about doing anything at home lately; Steve's mom had come home early a few weeks ago and embarrassed the hell out of them. They were just lucky Steve hadn't spontaneously combusted. Tony was pretty sure every inch of Steve's skin had been red with humiliation, and this was definitely not something Tony wanted interrupted.

He glanced around, made sure no one was watching, before edging open the door to the roof and slipping through. Steve was, unfortunately, not naked, though he did look just as handsome as ever. He had a whole spread and everything, air mattress, blankets, candles, the whole nine yards. He turned at the sound of the door closing, his face breaking into a thrilled smile the moment he caught sight of Tony.

"Happy birthday!" Steve threw his arms open wide.

It would never not be amazing how fantastically lucky Tony was. The open arms were probably just a gesture to what Steve had set up, not to mention he was balancing a familiar white box in one hand, but Tony tackle-hugged him anyway. Steve, being a fairly solid individual, was able to stay steady, just closing one arm around Tony to hug him close and press a kiss to his temple.

"Man, Randy's Donuts and you, birthdays don't get any better than that." Tony stole a real kiss, before swiping the box from Steve's outstretched hand and collapsing onto the air mattress. He flipped open the box. "Jelly-filled! You do love me."

"You know, I thought we might save those for after."

Steve fell back onto the mattress with him, throwing an arm around Tony's waist and leaning in close. He buried his nose in Tony's neck, drinking in his scent the way he always did when he was feeling particularly fervent. Steve brushed his lips over Tony's neck, more drifting than kissing, and the feather-soft sensations raced straight to Tony's already climbing libido. This was that sort of birthday date, then; well, Tony was more than happy to oblige.

Though not without a little teasing first, of course.

"After what?" Tony asked innocently between bites of donut. Steve hated raspberry-filled donuts. Tony adored them. He wasn't surprised Steve had bought them, it was his birthday after all—and frankly, Steve tended to go out of his way to spoil Tony at every god-given opportunity anyway—but it still gave Tony a warm, sentimental feeling, even as he teased Steve with an innocent smile. "You aren't having untoward thoughts about me again, are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous." Steve nipped at the spot just under Tony's ear, teasing it between his teeth, knowing full well it never failed to bring Tony to full attention. "I never stopped."

Tony took one last, quick bite of the donut, then moved the box off the makeshift bed. Before he could even finish turning back, Steve was already on the move, snaking his arm further around Tony's waist and abusing his football quarterback strength to haul Tony into his lap. Tony obliged with a smirk, swinging his leg over Steve's to straddle him.

"Eager?"

"I've been waiting." Steve kissed him. "All." Another kiss. "Damn." Another. "Afternoon."

Tony tugged Steve's shirt up and over his head in one smooth, well-practiced movement, and Steve did the same for him. He'd seen the expanse of skin on display before him a thousand times before, but god, it never got any less stunning to watch. Tony didn't know what drug Steve was taking, but there wasn't an inch of skin that wasn't smooth and firm to the touch, that didn't flex effortlessly every time he so much as breathed.

"Who was that telling me about being patient just an hour or so ago?" Tony reminded him, though his voice was bordering on breathless now. Just the sight of Steve without that flimsy layer of clothing was enough to have Tony ready to go. He tried for a smirk anyway, and Steve just kissed it right off his lips.

"Clearly a stronger-willed man than I." Steve paused, ran his tongue over his lips to catch the bit of filling that had smeared between them. "You know, I don't mind this raspberry stuff so much on you."

The thing about Steve—the  _great_ thing about Steve, and there were a great many great things about Steve—was that it wasn't even a show for Tony's benefit. Well, yeah, okay, he knew what he was doing, knew the spike of lust it drove through Tony to see Steve lick his lips like that, but he didn't do it on purpose. He was just like that. He was strong and gentle and gorgeous with every movement, and had a voice that sent shivers down Tony's spine whether he was telling him he ought to pay attention in class or that he tasted good after eating a donut.

Tony looped both arms around Steve's neck and kissed him hard enough to push him back into the mattress. He licked into Steve's mouth, curling his tongue and grazing his teeth over Steve's lip just the way he liked it. But then, they'd long perfected the art of kissing; between teenage hormones, too much free time, and a near-perfect soulbond, it hadn't been hard. Tony knew exactly how Steve liked to be kissed and when, knew exactly what kind would relax him after a hard day, what kind would make him sweet and cuddly, what kind would get him riled up. Tony could steal Steve's breath away anytime he wanted, and it was a power he delighted in abusing.

It was a power that went both ways though, and Steve was clearly putting every effort into stealing Tony's breath away first. He had both hands clasped behind Tony's neck, his palms wide and warm, a familiar, soothing weight. The tips of his fingers curled into the ends of Tony's hair, tugging when Tony bit his lip, not enough to hurt, just urging him on. God, ten minutes in and Tony was already painfully hard.

"What do you want?" Steve broke away to ask, kissing him again before he could answer, then continuing, his voice a soft murmur as he pressed the words into the skin of Tony's cheek, under his jaw, down his neck, "Anything you want, sweetheart. It's your day, let me take care of you. Let me—" Steve's face had turned a shade of red that wasn't arousal, but he seemed determined. "Let me blow you."

It wasn't that Steve was embarrassed about sex; Steve, as Tony had quickly and delightfully learned,  _loved_ sex. He had that all-American boy scout look about him, so Tony got stuck with the bad rep, but Steve had a libido that would put Don Juan to shame. He just wasn't much of a dirty talker, it didn't come naturally to him. He could refer to sex, could initiate it and make innuendo about it and was more than comfortable letting Tony know when he wanted it, but the  _words_ for it still made him blush like a virgin on prom night. Which was great—Tony loved his blush—but Steve knew Tony liked dirty talk, and it was obvious now that he was making an effort on Tony's behalf.

"Not gonna argue with that." Tony grinned, already rolling off of Steve to start yanking his shoes off.

Steve gave blowjobs like he kissed—enthusiastically. He was sliding between Tony's legs almost before Tony had kicked his jeans off, hands splaying reverently over Tony's hips. He slotted his thumbs just under the ridges of Tony's hipbone like he almost always did, rubbing little circles there that sent sparks of anticipation and arousal racing through Tony's system like a drug.

"Lay back for me," Steve murmured, and that was what did it for him, every time.

It wasn't "lay back", or "sit up", or "make noise". It was always "lay back for me" or "sit up for me" or "let me hear you", always for him, always like Tony was doing him some kind of wonderful favor just by existing. Steve wasn't saying it to get him to do what he wanted, either; that wasn't who Steve was, not something that would ever occur to him. He just took everything Tony did as some kind of gift, just for him, and Tony was more than happy being just for Steve.

Tony complied and Steve took him slowly, drawing it out. He drew back to lick in long strokes, swirling his tongue around the tip before swallowing Tony down and sucking hard. Tony gave a wanton little wiggle, spreading his legs wider, and Steve glanced up at him through too-long lashes. His blue eyes were dark and dilated with lust, his pink lips curled in an amused smile still wrapped around Tony's dick, and it was a sight Tony had seen before, but it would never stop being one of the hottest things he'd ever seen. He could do nothing but drop his head back again with a satisfied moan.

God, how many blowjobs had Steve given him at this point? Yet every time Tony still felt inexperienced, like he'd somehow managed to forget how impossibly good Steve felt around him, how hot and wet and  _tight_ and fucking hell he shouldn't be this close this soon but it was  _Steve_ and zero to ready was a very, very short ride with him. Tony took a deep breath and clutched tight to Steve's shoulders, probably leaving the nail marks Steve loved. He could feel himself against the back of Steve's throat then and Steve shuddered but didn't release him, just sucked harder.

It felt like years—slow, torturous years—before Steve pulled back, before he was sliding a hand over where his mouth had been, slow strokes more of a placeholder than any real attempt to further Tony's freefall towards completion. He sat back, free hand still on Tony lazily, his other working off his jeans. Eventually Steve had to actually let go to wiggle out of his jeans, and Tony scooted back on their makeshift bed in the meantime. He knew he looked good so he spread himself out a little better, let Steve enjoy the view.

Steve clearly appreciated it, if the way his gaze lingered was any indication. He pointedly trailed a look from head to toe before breaking into a pleased smile and crawling onto the bed next to Tony. He pulled him on his side and into a sloppy, unhurried kiss, sliding his hand into place on Tony's hip like he always did. He did it even when they weren't like this. He did it at home, at school, when they were out; anytime he could, really.

He'd been embarrassed when Tony had asked about it at first, but he'd eventually admitted that while intoxicated off his ass at that first party, he'd had a thought he still couldn't quite manage to get rid of. He'd thought that his hand was made to fit into Tony's hip, the way the curve of his thumb slipped into place against the groove of Tony's bone, and the instinctive appeal of the idea had just…never left him. It was one of Steve's more possessive quirks, but it was one Tony didn't mind. It wasn't as if Steve didn't have a knack for drawing out Tony's possessive side too.

Steve broke their kiss to suck sharply on Tony's throat, to which he gave a harsh, guttural moan. The beautiful part of it was that back in the beginning, he'd completely expected to have to teach Steve how to give a proper hickey. Instead, his first try he'd given Tony one the size of Texas, glancing up when he'd finished, batting his baby blues with an innocent little 'how was that, Tony?' that nearly had Tony coming in his damn pants without any sort of other stimulation at all. So yeah, Tony learned to stop underestimating Steve in bed about as quickly as Steve picked up on what to do to make Tony's toes curl.

Steve worked his way up Tony's throat to whisper in his ear, "What do you want me to do to you?"

Tony hooked an ankle over Steve's thigh and rolled them over, hauling Steve on top of him in answer. Steve seemed a bit confused, his brow wrinkling just a bit as he tried to figure out what Tony was up to. They made out with Steve on top fairly often, that wasn't an issue anymore, but once they got past the part where they lost their pants, they didn't end up in any position that involved Steve directly above him. It was that thought, the  _looming_ part of it that made Tony nervous for so long—alright, still did, just a little—but he was determined to try it tonight.

"Tony?" Steve stroked his hair back, before dropping his hand and caressing his thumb over Tony's cheek. "You're sure?"

"Happy birthday to me." Tony just wrapped both arms around Steve's neck and pulled him in tight, kissing him hard and fast. "C'mon, baby. Make love to me."

It took a hell of a long time for Tony not to feel like he was in some dime store romance novel saying that, but something about Steve made it feel right. More than right—Steve  _loved_ it, practically came to life at the words, and how could Tony feel like an idiot about it when it made Steve so happy? It wasn't that "fuck me" didn't work, or even that Steve didn't like it—just that he liked this more, and that was enough for Tony.

Steve could always get him to do things like that. He could always draw the corniest, most ridiculous things out of him, things he'd be humiliated to let anyone else hear him say, but this was Steve. Things like embarrassment just didn't... _happen_ around Steve. There was no point in it. Steve knew every ludicrous, weird, dorky personality quirk Tony possessed; he didn't  _care._ Steve was just as in love, just as utterly lost to the bond between them as Tony was, and there wasn't a better feeling than that in all the world.

At the magic words Steve bent to kiss him again, slow and tender like he always did right before. They'd had plenty pretty frantic couplings—the time they had less than a twenty minute window in an empty classroom was a memorable one—but Steve never failed to slow down for that one, brief moment, like a diver taking one last deep breath of fresh air before going under.

Then Steve was sliding his hands along Tony's sides, gripping his thighs tight and hoisting up. Tony helpfully hooked his ankles around Steve, who pulled away to reach beside them, fumbling for lube. They'd abandoned condoms a while ago; they'd both been tested. He managed to get ahold of it and popped it open, slicking his fingers liberally and massaging the gel around to warm it up.

Tony knew Steve didn't do it to tease him, but damn if waiting didn't make him impatient anyway. He rubbed himself against Steve's thigh for a little friction, and Steve made a low sound of approval.

"C'mon, Steve, it's fine." Tony tried, knowing the words were completely pointless even as he said them. Unless they were short on time, Steve was ridiculous about always making sure it was warm. Tony wiggled petulantly anyway, rutting up against Steve. "Please, need you."

"Always need me, don't you?" Steve's voice was deliciously rough, a telling sign of his own growing need. "Always ready for me, always want it. Need me so much, don't you baby?"

"I do, I do," Tony interspersed the words with kisses, little nips at Steve's neck. His neck was incredibly sensitive, and little bites, little marks, drove him crazy. Tony knew just the words to say to get Steve to abandon his little mission with lube-warming, too, "C'mon, make me yours."

"Already mine," Steve growled irritably, knowing full well what Tony was doing and falling for it anyway like he always did, and damn if that wasn't the sexiest sound in the world. Steve crushed their mouths together, hot and wet and demanding, then he slipped a finger in, sure and skilled after more than a year's practice. " _Always_  mine."

"Always," Tony agreed.

It wasn't bad, like this. Steve above him, in his arms, his lips warm on Tony's skin—hell, it was more than not-bad, it was damn good. He could get used to this _._  Frankly, he sort of already was, if the stream of moans he'd done nothing to abate was any indication.

"C'mon," Tony urged eventually, "Another."

"Too soon." Steve laughed against his skin. Tony always rushed him. Steve always ignored him. "You know it is."

"I can take it, Steve, baby, sweetheart, please—" It felt good but not good enough, and Tony rocked against Steve's finger eagerly. "More, c'mon—"

"No. You know I hate it—" Steve bit down on his shoulder reprovingly, though Tony could feel the curl of his smile pressed into his skin. "—when you rush me."

"Liar." Tony smirked, tugging Steve back up to his mouth and pressing the words between their lips with a filthy kiss. "You know what  _I_ hate?"

"Hm?" Steve murmured, not quite a full word, more of a 'go on' sound.

"When you hurry up and find my prostate. Totally awful. Hate it. So much."

Steve just laughed again, kissing his way down Tony's chest as he finally slipped a second lube-slick finger in, crooking both of them in search of it. It didn't often take him more than once or twi—there it was. Tony writhed, throwing his head back with a pleased shout of, _"God,_ Steve!" One nice thing about being underneath; he could wriggle all he wanted and he wouldn't accidentally slip off Steve's fingers. That had happened a few times before, when Steve went after that particular spot a little too eagerly. Not that it was a bad thing, but. It was nice not to have to try and think about logistics while in the middle of enjoying himself.

Steve worked him open fairly quickly, and when he eventually removed his fingers Tony whined shamelessly. Steve ignored the impatient whine to pause and look at Tony, really look at him. He wasn't questioning, just watching, absorbing Tony with the thoughtfully reverent look that meant he was mentally committing Tony to paper.

Tony, well. He took a deep breath. This was Steve. Who cared what position they were in? It didn't matter, didn't change anything. He wasn't even doing it for Steve, not really. He knew damn well they could go the rest of their lives without having sex in this position and Steve wouldn't hold it against him. Probably wouldn't even  _think_ about it; that was just who Steve was, which was exactly why Tony wanted to do it. Maybe he'd like it, maybe he wouldn't, but he refused to let this be something he didn't share with Steve.

"Steve, fuck—baby, please—I need—" Steve silenced him with a kiss, and, lacking a pillow to place under Tony's back, Steve slipped his hands there and lifted him himself.

Without Steve's hands free it took an endless moment of positioning before Steve was able to slide in, but it was worth it. It was so, so worth it. It felt different this way, fuller somehow, and Tony moaned loudly into Steve's mouth. Steve waited a moment before moving, then went achingly slow, his hips an easy roll against Tony's. He adjusted his hands after a beat, releasing Tony's back to slide them up and cradle Tony's face, still kissing him through every thrust. He could feel Steve paying him even more attention than usual, searching for anything close to hesitance or discomfort in their bond. Tony just pushed over how fantastic he felt, let his pleasure surge into Steve like a shared wave.

"You got me, baby," Tony assured him through a gasp of pleasure, "You feel so—so good, Steve, so perfect, so mine. Just—need you, need more, please."

Steve gave a choked groan at that, and finally,  _finally_  started thrusting in earnest. He wasn't hitting home quite as often as usual, the new angle changing how he needed to jerk his hips to find that particular spot, but he was doing pretty goddamn well if you asked Tony. He keened when Steve managed to find it again, a high, helplessly desperate noise.

"Tony, God,  _Tony—"_ Steve moaned with such rich, pure desperation, and god if his name didn't sound best on Steve's lips.

Their senses were already blending; it always happened once they got going, and was probably the single best thing about soulbonded sex. There weren't words to describe it, not any that would do it justice, but Tony figured it was the closest thing to being one person. He could hear them breathing in time together, feel the slap and slide of sweat-slick skin, see the love and desire in Steve's eyes and knew it was mirrored in his own. They shared that beautiful, perfect headspace as long as they could, before Steve's thighs shook and his thrusts became erratic and his hips snapped forward once more, deep, and they lost it.

Tony felt Steve swell, felt the burst of electricity in his veins and stars behind his eyelids, and he surged up into the kiss with one last swipe of tongue before they broke apart, gasping. Steve buried his face in the crook of Tony's neck, panting hard, his hips still giving a few more helpless spasms as he rode the aftershocks.

Tony reached up a tired hand, threading his fingers through the stray, sweat-damp wisps of hair that had fallen over Steve's face. God, how had he managed to put this off for so long? Steve was beautiful above him, all golden skin and radiant warmth, eclipsing everything else in the best possible way.

"Love you." Steve slumped over, well-practiced in finding ways to rest against Tony afterwards without letting his weight crush him.

"Love you," Tony murmured back, pressing lazy kisses to Steve's hair while Steve did the same to his chest.

They were quiet for a moment, the usual haze of pleasure and satisfaction settling deep in their bones. They were usually knotted together for at least ten minutes, sometimes fifteen; it took at least three just to breathe again.

"D'you plan it?" Steve asked eventually.

"Plan?" Tony exhaled softly, still too pleasure-buzzed to fire off the brain synapses required to know what Steve was talking about.

"This. Me. On top."

"Sorta. Occurred to me…few days ago. Thought I'd wait. Make it a birthday present."

"It's  _your_  birthday. You're not supposed to give  _me_ a present." Steve sighed in fond exasperation, his hot breath raising goosebumps on Tony's neck.

"Who said it was for you?" Tony snorted. "This was definitely a present to myself."

"You liked it?"

"You know I did."

"Want to hear it."

"I loved it, baby. Relax."

The beautiful thing was that at Tony's instruction Steve  _did_ relax. He could feel Steve let go of that last little bit of tension, the little part of him that felt guilty for enjoying it so much if he wasn't 110% sure Tony had. Tony raised his hand again, stroking through Steve's soft hair. How could his hair be so much softer than everybody else's, than Tony's? They used the same shampoo. Was it genetics, or Steve-magic, or what?

"Your hair's soft too, Tony." Steve hummed against Tony's chest.

They were always able to tell how the other was feeling, or what the other might be focused on; when they were knotted, that connection was intensified, razor-sharp and incredibly clear. It wasn't quite mind-reading, Tony couldn't hear Steve's voice in his head or anything, but it was damn close. Their conversations in the afterglow of sex tended to drift between verbal and not.

"Not this soft." Tony pushed a few stray strands back. Steve always had the wildest sex hair, mussed and out of place and utterly breath-taking.

"Aren't you going to tell me my hair look sexy pushed back?" Steve grinned up at him, and Tony laughed at the  _Mean Girls_ quote.

"You're certainly distracting in math class."

" _You're_ distracting in math class." Steve snorted. "Only one of us can do theorems in their sleep, Tony. I need to actually pay attention."

"Why pay attention when you've got me to tutor you?"

"Funny, but I can think of more interesting ways to spend our free time than math tutoring."

"Fair point. How long do we have, anyway? Up here, I mean."

"Mom's got the late shift." Steve shrugged. "We can stay here or go home, it's up to you."

"How late?"

"Midnight, I think. It's on the bulletin board at home. Don't you ever check it?"

"I've got you for that." Tony grinned, pressing a kiss to Steve's hair. "Why don't we head home once we can then? This is nice, but it's going to get cold, fast, and we've got the house to ourselves…"

"Don't need to tell me twice." Steve pushed up on his elbows for a thorough, eager kiss, smile evident in the curve of his lips against Tony's.

* * *

"Should we—"

"Nope." Tony cut him off with a kiss, pressing Steve up against the car. "Leave it."

"But—"

"We can bring the stuff in  _later,"_ Tony told him firmly, cupping the erection Steve was rubbing against his thigh, "This seems like a  _now_ problem."

"When you're right—" Steve took him by surprise, hoisting him up by the ass so Tony could hook his legs around Steve's waist. "—you're right."

"Don't be—" Tony's sentence was interrupted by a peppering of kisses. "Ridiculous—I'm always—right."

"Whatever you say, dear." Steve hummed in amusement, sucking sharply on Tony's earlobe.

"Fuck," Tony hissed, "Get inside or I'm ripping your shirt off in front of all the neighbors."

"Yes, dear."

"I'm going to smack you."

"Promise?" Steve batted his eyelashes flirtatiously, and Tony just dipped in for another, deeper kiss.

They wandered around a bit—mostly because neither of them were quite willing to stop kissing long enough for Steve to see exactly where he was going—but eventually made it to the door. Steve managed to unlock the door with one hand, keeping Tony up with the other—ah, the wonders of football player strength—and they stumbled inside, Steve's shirt already halfway off before the lights flicked on all on their own.

"Surprise!"

Steve very nearly dropped him, and they both snapped their heads around wildly to see every friend they'd ever made popping out from behind various pieces of furniture. Most of them were rolling their eyes or staring at Steve critically, and Steve himself looked about two seconds from imploding of mortification.

"Oh,  _God_." He let Tony down and yanked his shirt back into place. "I completely—"

"Forgot, yeah, we guessed that." Pepper snorted.

"I'd wish you happy birthday, Tones, but you seem to be doing alright." Rhodey grinned, the first to move out from behind the furniture.

"Rhodey! You got leave!" Tony whooped, throwing his arms up and charging over to tackle his friend.

"Of course I did, idiot." Rhodey clapped a hand on his back. "And can I just say how glad I am you kept your pants on this time?"

"No kidding," Bruce laughed, shaking his head.

"This day of birth marks your adulthood, Anthony!" Thor picked up him up in a near-painful hug. "Tis most joyous! I am pleased to celebrate this delightful occasion with you! I would have come bearing alcohol, but Steven informed me this would be a grave mistake."

"Yeah, alcohol in this house is a no-go." Tony clapped Thor on the back, mostly in the hopes he would then be let go before he ended up with a crushed rib. "Kudos for the thought though, big guy."

"Thor." Steve laid a hand on Thor's shoulder. "Let him go, you're going to break something."

"Yes, of course!"

"Thanks." Tony gasped for air, then shot a suspicious look in a still-burning-red Steve's direction. "You were in on all this, weren't you?"

"My job was distraction," Steve admitted, scratching the back of his neck, "Ironically, you ended up distracting me."

"Who's surprised? Oh, that's right, no one. Come on, who else totally saw this coming?" Bucky snorted.

"Literally everyone," Clint snickered.

Natasha smacked them both as she passed to come press a kiss to Tony's cheek.

"Happy birthday, дурак."

"Yeah man, happy birthday." Bucky slung an arm around Tony's shoulders.

"You totally thought we forgot, didn't you?" Clint grinned, elbowing Tony lightly.

"I totally knew," Tony defended himself, "You guys can't keep a secret for jack."

"What happened to 'you're the only one who loves me'?" Steve murmured in his ear, reminding him of his earlier complaints.

"Shut up, Steve," Tony grumbled, "That was shared in confidence and therefore can't be used against me."

"Whatever you say, honey," Steve said amicably, kissing him just under his ear.

It was strange to think how he'd gotten here, that this was even possible. There'd been a time in his life he wouldn't have thought so. He could still remember sometimes what it felt like on that first day, six or seven years ago now, when he'd shown. When he'd felt that first cold chill of  _knowing,_ when he'd realized he'd been born different. That he was 'one of those'. Everything in his life had come to a stop, to an end—Xavier's Academy, Howard's attention, any dreams he had of running StarkIndustries, of making his father proud.

He hadn't considered it a beginning. Sure as hell not then, and not for a long time after, either. But it had been. If he'd been an alpha, would he have ever gotten out from under Howard's controlling hand? Or would he have lived the life Howard wanted? Would he have been CEO? An inventor? Both? Would he have made the same choices Howard had?

Maybe he would've still bonded with Steve, just as a double-alpha couple. Maybe Steve would've been born an omega instead. Maybe they wouldn't have found each other at all; Tony couldn't imagine that. Even if he'd been born an alpha, even if he'd had every other advantage life had to offer, he couldn't imagine staring it all down without Steve. What would be the point of that? The meaning? He wouldn't be who he was without Steve, and more importantly, he wouldn't be who he  _wanted_  to be.

Steve was worth it.

Steve was worth everything.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] You're Not Stubborn (Just Impossible)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1468447) by [Wordsplat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wordsplat/pseuds/Wordsplat), [zhenger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhenger/pseuds/zhenger)




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